


A Ghost in Me

by madjm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madjm/pseuds/madjm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Killian Jones is a master thief, known only as Hook. His life is complicated when he's asked to steal a necklace from security expert Emma Swan, and it opens up their shared past. Captain Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm way too lazy to bring all my fic over here, but since I'm in the middle of this one, I'm going to post what I've got. It's been on ffnet and Tumblr, so you may have seen it there.

_Something is happening, something bad is coming, and the boy can feel fear in the air._

 

_The atmosphere throughout the castle is heavy. Oppressive. The boy likes that word. He enjoys big words, likes the feel of them in his mouth. He likes to know things; he likes the way the king laughs in surprise when he shows off a new word. When the king claps him on the back and says “well done,” he feels happy and proud, like he belongs to something. Almost like part of a family again, something he hasn’t felt since his brother died._

 

_He knows he is lucky; not many orphan boys are allowed to share a tutor with a princess, and Master Jiminy has much to teach despite being a cricket. He never makes the boy feel like he’s different or less important than his royal classmate._

 

_But even the teacher won’t tell him what’s going on now._

 

_He is only 8 years old, trusted to keep pots and pans clean in the kitchens but not to hear the truth. (“Let the adults worry about it,” he is told.) His small size, though, means he can slip among the adults in the castle and pick up bits and pieces on his own. The Evil Queen, Regina, plans to cast a curse on them all. She wants to take away their happiness. There is something about the little princess, too, but the details aren’t clear._

 

_The whispers make him afraid. He doesn’t want anything to happen to the girl. She is his friend, and she never treats him as though she’s better than he is, even though he knows she is. She is only 6, a pretty girl with long golden curls who would rather climb a tree than have a tea party. She likes to play sword fighting with him and go on pretend adventures in the castle and the gardens outside. Once, they climb the tallest tree in the gardens and pretend it is a beanstalk. After they have an epic battle with an imaginary giant, she tells him that when they are older, her father will teach them both_ **_real_ ** _sword fighting and they can go on_ **_real_ ** _adventures together._

 

_They’ve been forbidden to go outside now, so they are in the princess’s playroom, clashing wooden swords together, when the king and queen rush in. The queen is dressed as he’s never seen her, in pants and a tunic with her long, dark hair tied back. She carries a bow and has a quiver of arrows on her back and a long knife at her waist._

 

_“You take her to the wardrobe,” the queen says. “I’ll hold them off.”_

 

_The king turns to them, studying the boy with serious eyes. “I’ll take them both.”_

 

_He turns back to his queen, and the boy has the peculiar idea that they are having a conversation without words. After a moment, the woman nods and touches her hand to the king’s face. She kneels down and takes off the pendant she always wears — a flower of gold with an emerald at the center— and clasps it around her daughter’s neck. She pulls the crying girl into a tight hug, whispering something the boy can’t hear. Then she does the same with him, making him blush._

 

_“Come back to us,” she whispers to him. “Take care of each other.”_

 

_She stands, and the king embraces her, kissing her hard enough to make the boy blush again. Then the queen is gone, and his hand finds the princess’s as they are made to follow the king down the hall._

 

_The boy hears loud noises that he now realizes are the sounds of fighting. Down each hall they pass, the kingdom’s knights are battling black-clad soldiers — the Evil Queen’s men._

 

_The king easily takes out several of these soldiers; still, the boy’s hand tightens on the wooden sword he still holds as he readies to attack if necessary._

 

_The futility of such a fight doesn’t even occur to him._

 

_They reach a room at the end of the hall just as five enemy soldiers attack. The king pushes the children into the room, slicing his sword toward the soldiers in a deadly dance. The boy is amazed at how fast, how well the man fights, that even against such numbers he is easily winning._

 

_The king doesn’t see a sixth coming up behind him, and the boy and girl yell at the same time to warn him. The boy wrenches his hand from hers and jumps forward, striking the soldier hard on the arm with his wooden sword as the king turns. Unfortunately, the arm closest to him is not the man’s sword arm, and though the soldier is unbalanced by the attack, his blade still sinks into the king’s abdomen._

 

_Everything seems to slow, then. The boy sees the blood (he’s never seen so much blood; he thinks he might be sick) and doesn’t notice right away that the king is bringing up his own sword, plunging it into the black-clad soldier’s chest. As that man falls, his blade is pulled from the king, and there is even more blood. The princess is screaming and hugging her father, and her green dress is marred by splotches of red. The boy feels helpless; he has no idea what to do._

 

_The king tries to speak, motioning him closer. The man points behind them at a wooden wardrobe in the center of the room, a small door set in the front._

 

_“Killian,” he says faintly. “Take Emma. Wardrobe. You’ll be in … a new world. She can break the curse. Keep … safe.”_

 

_The boy freezes for a moment, then he sees a group of enemy soldiers coming their way, a wall of black, and pulls on the princess’s arm._

 

_“We have to go,” he says._

 

_She ignores him, and he yanks harder, pulling her away from her father, who’s now still on the floor._

 

_“Move!” he orders, and she obeys, tears streaming down her face._

 

_He throws open the door to the wardrobe and pushes her in, folding himself into the tight space with her._

 

_“Papa!” she yells, reaching for the door before he shuts it with a snap and they’re swallowed by darkness._

 

*

 

Killian Jones awoke with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. His heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath, clutching at his chest. 

 

That damned dream.

 

He fell back, wincing at the sweat-soaked sheets under him, and turned to the clock. Only a few minutes to five. He knew from long experience that he’d not get back to sleep anyway, so he pushed out of bed and stripped off his sleep pants and underwear on his way to the shower.

 

He stayed a long time under the hot spray, letting the water wash away the remnants of the dream. Each time he had it, he remembered more of it and it seemed to linger longer in his mind.

 

He’d had it off-and-on for five years now, since the first time he’d taken a special job from an outfit labeling itself the Home Office. 

 

He’d only met two of their people, a woman named Tamara and her partner, Greg, and they seemed to know next to nothing about him. They knew him only as Sam Bellamy, and mostly they communicated with him through the Internet. That was the way he liked it. 

 

He’d early on started taking the names of pirates as his aliases; the police never caught on, but a reporter following his case had spotted the pattern years ago. She’d nicknamed him Hook, after one of the most famous fictional pirates — and one of the pirate names he’d never actually used. Still, the mystery surrounding him was amusing — and useful. His reputation depended on nobody knowing who Killian Jones was — not the clients, not the marks, not the women that he often used as a cover for his covert activities.

 

Killian was never one to believe in magic, or anything he couldn’t see, touch or take for himself, but he couldn’t deny the jolt he’d felt upon touching the first item the Home Office asked him to acquire. 

 

It was just a rock, at least on the surface; it fit nicely in his palm and almost seemed to hum as it changed color, like a mood ring. He knew going in that it was more than it appeared for the simple reason that the client was willing to pay half a million dollars for him to retrieve it from a safe at a private home in Venice. He’d charmed his way into an exclusive party by way of a lovely young widow and had been in and out of the safe before midnight, leaving no evidence behind him.

 

But there was something about the rock.

 

_Magic_ , Tamara had told him. He was still skeptical, though he couldn’t forget the way the rock had felt, almost alive in his palm. And though a part of him wanted to refuse any more work from this Home Office, they paid _very_ well. Though he had more money than he could spend now, the part of him that remembered being broke and hungry still had a hard time turning away from a huge payday. 

 

Almost as much of a draw was the thrill of the job. Many of the “artifacts” they wanted him to steal were nearly impossible to get to, which is why they needed him. And Killian Jones did love a challenge.

 

Unfortunately, it was like the special artifacts sparked something within him. At first the dream happened sporadically. Once every few months became once a month. Then it was once a week. Lately, it had progressed to several times a week. It almost seemed like a countdown, a warning that something was drawing near, and he very much did not want to know what it was.

 

He wondered sometimes if the dream was a bit of memory, twisted somehow by years of reading too much fantasy literature. He was an orphan, and an accident at 8 years old had robbed him of his past. Apparently there wasn’t much of interest to remember, anyway. Nobody had ever claimed him, and he’d learned to fend for himself, running away from the foster care system at 15. He was handy at thievery, and despite a rough time the first few years on his own, he’d become quite adept at using his less legal skills to make an excellent living.

 

He’d had the feeling lately that his luck was about to run out. Maybe it was the dream. Maybe he needed a vacation. Or maybe he was just losing it. But he felt that it might be time to move on from Manhattan, to start somewhere fresh, perhaps back to Europe for a few years. And it was definitely time to cut his ties with the Home Office. He’d made quite a lot of money off them, true, but something about their organization seemed off to him. The twin lures of a big paycheck and bigger challenge were enough to drown out his doubts for a while, but his instincts were all but screaming at him now to stay away.

 

So naturally, when he’d dried off, pulled on a worn pair of jeans and settled in front of his computer, the first message he saw was from Tamara.

 

The Home Office had another job for him, and she wanted to meet.

 

He rubbed his hand over his face, considering. He couldn’t help the rush he got at the thought of another next-to-impossible job, but his gut was telling him that this Home Office was shady as hell and couldn’t be trusted.

 

Finally he typed up a quick response, letting her know he was too busy for another job right now. 

 

She must have been waiting, because he hadn’t even had time to open another email before she responded.

 

The subject line said “$5 MILLION.”

 

He hovered his cursor over the email, staring at the “$5 million.” The most any of their jobs had paid was $2 million, and he never even saw what that artifact was, as the owner had kept it in a locked wooden box. He could easily have picked the lock, of course, but some instinct had kept him from doing so. What, he wondered, would tempt them to offer so much?

 

Cursing under his breath, he opened the email. There were no words, only a photo. It showed a stunning blonde, wearing a low-cut white dress. As gorgeous as she was, his attention was immediately drawn to the gold and emerald flower pendant around her neck.

 

It was the necklace from his dream.

 

*

 

Every Starbucks was the same, no matter the city. Tucked into a table in the corner, Killian felt like he could be anywhere. He should, he knew, be _anywhere but here_. He should delete Tamara’s email and close that account, should pack up the few belongings that meant anything to him and take off, find a new place.

 

But since he’d seen the necklace, there was no chance he wouldn’t take the job. He had questions, and he wanted answers. Who was the blonde, and why was he dreaming of her necklace? Was there some connection between the two of them?

 

He sipped his cafe mocha and waited for Tamara to show. The shop was crowded with people on their way to work; except for a few glances from women, nobody even noticed him sitting there. He was just another guy in worn jeans and a black T-shirt, eyes glued to his smartphone, seemingly ignoring the world around him.

 

He finally looked up from his phone when Tamara slid into the seat across from him, smiling brightly. “Sam! It’s great to see you,” she said.

 

He smirked. Tamara was a beautiful woman, and she’d made it clear in the past that she wouldn’t be opposed to mixing business with pleasure, but his instincts told him from the start that that would be a mistake. “I’m sure it is, love. Unfortunately, I’m in a bit of a rush.”

 

Her smile dimmed, and she was clearly biting back an annoyed response. Killian mentally added that to his list of reasons to be suspicious. He never trusted a person who was afraid to speak his or her mind. 

 

On the other hand, he rarely trusted anyone, so perhaps he was being a little hard on the woman.

 

With an annoyed sigh, she pulled an envelope out of her bag, sliding it across the table, slipping a flash drive underneath it at the same time. 

 

He palmed the flash drive, stuffing it in his pocket before opening the envelope. It was an invitation to a gala to raise money for a children’s hospital in Boston.

 

“A fund-raiser?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am, of course, a model of philanthropy, but a party is hardly my highest priority right now.”

 

“The blonde, Emma Swan, will be there,” she said in a low voice. “And most likely, she’ll be wearing a very lovely necklace that my employers are interested in.”

 

He nodded, tapping his fingers lightly on the invitation. Her employers weren’t the only ones interested in that necklace. Or the blonde. He slid the invitation back into the envelope and took a last sip of his coffee. Saluting her with the cup, he stood. “A pleasure as always, Tamara. I’ll be in touch.”

 

*

 

Back home, he made a beeline for his secure laptop, impatiently sliding the flash drive home.

 

It was time to find out everything he could on one Emma Swan.

 

Skimming the file, he hit the highlights. _Single, 27, Boston native. Mother of one boy. Works as a security expert at her father’s company._

 

Killian laughed shortly, feeling the blood rush set in. They wanted him to steal a necklace, worn by a security expert in a crowded ballroom full of VIPs.

 

Sounded exactly like his kind of job.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_I remember a woman, my mother. My biological mother, long, dark hair, wide smile. I remember warm hugs and a scent of something floral. Something nice, peaceful. I remember dancing with her around a room full of dolls and stuffed animals, a happy place. And my father, tall and blond, full of laughter. Cutting in to our dance, until we are a circle of three, holding hands and spinning in a circle laughing … I remember_

 

“I remember a lot of bullshit,” Emma Swan muttered, tossing her pen to the side and slamming the notebook shut. She leaned forward, head on the desk, and sighed.

 

She had hesitated to go to a shrink to begin with, but something within her couldn’t rest until she knew the truth about her past. Dr. Anderson was well-known for helping people remember and work through past traumas, but she was starting to think his reputation was crap. He had her writing down all her “memories” of the past, before she was adopted, and it was all ridiculous. All she could tell from re-reading these journal entries was that she may or may not have had a dark-haired mother and blond father, and that they probably were a couple of crackheads who sat her on the couch watching Disney movies on repeat while they were out scoring drugs or whatever.

 

Maybe it was better not to remember at all.

 

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it, not at all surprised to see that it was another text from Neal.

 

She was glad he was out of prison, really she was, and despite their past it warmed her heart to see him reconnecting with Henry. But he’d been bugging her for two days to meet with him about “something important,” and she just didn’t have the time.

 

Saturday was the Children’s Hospital fund-raising gala, and it might be the biggest night of her professional life. Her father’s company was providing security for the event, and he’d put Emma in charge. It was a test, she knew.

 

Michael Swan and his father had started Swan Security years before, beginning with home security and branching out over time into bigger projects. He’d always dreamed of bringing _his_ son in as a partner one day. Unfortunately for Michael, his son was more interested in science than security, and his daughter was actually the one with an interest in the family business.

 

Emma knew her father loved her, but he seemed to be having some trouble accepting her in the job, despite how she’d taken to it from the start. She wondered, sometimes, if his reluctance was more about the fact that she was a woman or the fact that she was adopted. Neither option made her happy, but for different reasons.

 

At any rate, she’d worked harder than anyone else at the firm and had proven herself repeatedly to be worthy of his trust. 

 

This job was a big one, as hundreds of wealthy and powerful people would be making an appearance at this fund-raiser. If she managed it smoothly, her mom had told her privately, her father planned to offer her a partnership in Swan Security. 

 

And everything _would_ go perfectly. She’d studied the ballroom and its in-house security like it was an exam she had to ace. She’d walked every inch of the place looking for weak spots and reinforced those with extra cameras and a rotating security patrol. Her contingency plans had contingency plans. She’d be on-site Saturday, mingling with the crowd and supervising her people, but if everything went as planned she wouldn’t have to do a thing.

 

She glanced at her phone again, then sighed and texted Neal back.

 

**_Talk tomorrow when you pick Henry up?_ **

 

As if work was not stressful enough, she was going to have to deal with Henry’s first night away from her. She had full custody, and she didn’t have to let Neal see her son at all, but Henry was excited about how they planned to “camp out” in a tent inside Neal’s apartment. Neal had really gotten himself together, and she wanted Henry to know his father, but it was still tough to give up any of her precious time with the kid. 

 

Standing and straightening her clothes, she double-checked that she had everything in order for her last walk-through of the ballroom — with her father, the building manager and the charity’s event planner. It was only her professional future and her relationship with her father at stake.

 

No pressure there.

 

*

 

The walk-through went perfectly, and she could tell she’d impressed the building manager and the event planner with her setup. Her dad, of course, still managed to find fault with some of her plans, so she knew she’d be up all night reviewing her work, looking for holes in the security.

 

She sighed, telling herself that he would be just as hard on any other employee; surely he was just doing his job, trying to give them the best possible security.

 

She unlocked the door to her parents’ house and slipped inside. “Mom? You home?”

 

“Mom!” Henry came rushing out of the kitchen and slammed into her for a hug.

 

She smiled and picked him up, squeezing him until he begged, giggling, for mercy. She instantly felt better. Nothing like a 10-year-old to brighten your day.

 

“Hey, kid. Where’s grandma?”

 

“Kitchen,” he said, laughing as she set him down. “We’re making cookies!”

 

“I thought as much,” she said, swiping some flour off his cheek. “I want in on this action.”

 

They trooped into the kitchen, catching Jeannie Swan sneaking a bite of raw cookie dough.

 

“Mother!” Emma gasped in fake horror. “You always told me not to do that!”

 

“Busted!” Henry chimed in.

 

The older woman laughed. “Some things are worth the risk.”

 

Emma leaned on the counter beside her. “You’re such a rebel, Mom.”

 

Jeannie slid a cookie sheet into the oven. “Henry, will you set the timer?”

 

“Awesome!” Her mom’s oven timer was shaped like a frog, and Henry never seemed to tire of using it.

 

“How’d it go?” her mom asked.

 

She shrugged. “The clients are very happy with the plans.” 

 

Jeannie knew, of course, what she didn’t say. “Your father is picky, Emma. It’s one thing that makes him good at the job. But he’s very proud of you, you know.”

 

Actually, she didn’t know, but it was pointless to have this conversation again. After a moment, she felt her mom’s arm around her. “And so am I, honey.”

 

Emma blinked back tears, thinking — not for the first time — how lucky she was to have been adopted by the Swans. She might have only false, ridiculous memories of her biological parents, but she remembered so clearly the day Michael and Jeannie had taken her home with them. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but once she’d been with them for a few weeks, Jeannie had asked her if she’d like to stay with them forever.

 

They’d been the only parents she’d known ever since.

 

A year later, they’d had a surprise baby of their own, and Emma had become a big sister. Though they weren’t related by blood, Emma had loved Matt fiercely from the first moment her parents brought him home from the hospital.

 

She knew a lot of other orphans weren’t as lucky as she was, and she tried to remember to be grateful even when things weren’t going so well.

 

“I think we’ll have pizza tonight,” her mom announced. “Will you two stay?”

 

“Cookies _and_ pizza,” Emma said, exchanging a grin with Henry. “You’re the best grandma ever. We’re sold!”

 

*

 

**_Plz call me back._ **

 

Emma growled at the text and shoved her phone back in her clutch.

 

Neal had the worst timing ever. He knew she had to work tonight, and she’d already told him that taking Henry out of state for a week was out of the question. But, in true Neal Cassidy style, he was trying to find an angle, trying to con her into giving him his way.

 

Apparently the fact that he’d done a stint in prison for conning people out of a lot of money wasn’t enough for him to learn his lesson.

 

Blowing out a breath, she put her ex out of her mind and focused on her job. She slipped through the swelling crowd, checking with her people and generally keeping an eye on things. The orchestra was playing some Cole Porter tune, people were dancing and sipping champagne, and things seemed to be going smoothly.

 

She even got a “well done, hon” from her father when he stopped by briefly to check things out for himself. It was a little embarrassing that at nearly 28 years old she was still seeking his approval; she wondered if she’d ever outgrow that.

 

On her next circuit of the ballroom, she noticed something going on at the entrance just past the metal detectors — a couple of her guys surrounding a guest. She knew they could probably handle it, but since she was close, she joined them.

 

“Everything OK, guys?”

 

“Aye,” the guest answered for them, waving at the metal detector wand. “I was just informing these gentlemen that I have a bit of metal in my arm from a childhood accident.”

 

He turned fully to face her, and she drew in a breath at the sight of him. He was dangerously attractive, with wild, dark hair and a beard with just the right amount of scruff. His eyes — lord, amazing, gorgeous blue eyes — scanned her from the top of her head down the deep v-neck of her chiffon gown and back up again. She could almost physically feel his eyes on her body, and her pulse sped in response. A slow grin spread across his face, upping the hotness quotient by a thousand.

 

She was sure she would remember meeting a man who looked like that, but something about him seemed very familiar. Maybe she’d seen his photo somewhere?

 

“Then again,” he said slowly, holding his arms wide, “for safety’s sake, perhaps you should pat me down thoroughly … just to be certain I’m no villain.”

 

She rolled her eyes, waving her guys back to work, very determinedly _not_ imagining what it would be like to get her hands on the handsome stranger. The guy wore the hell out of a tux, and she had a feeling he’d look even better without it.

 

Which was an idea she was going to put out of her mind immediately.

 

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. …?”

 

He held out his hand. “Rackham, Jack Rackham.”

 

She frowned, shaking the offered hand. It was warm, and his fingers trailed over her palm while letting go, as if reluctant to break contact. “Like the pirate?”

 

She wondered if she imagined that his smile dimmed for a moment before bouncing back. “Well, not many know of him.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” she said. Anyone who happened to watch the recent cable series about pirates would know, though she didn’t say so. “You know, I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list, Mr. Rackham.”

 

“It’s Jack,” he said, stepping closer — deliberately into her personal space. “There must be hundreds of names on that guest list.”

 

“I have an excellent memory.”

 

“Well, Miss …?”

 

“Emma Swan. I’m in charge of security tonight.”

 

“Well, Miss Swan,” he said, pulling out an invitation. “I’m a guest of Mrs. O’Bryan this evening.”

 

“Ahhh.” Ashley O’Bryan was a widow well-known for keeping company with attractive younger men. Her exploits with her brainless, built boy-toys were the subject of much gossip in town. This guy was a little older than her typical flavor of the month, and a lot more interesting. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem like her usual … date.”

 

“Shall I take that as a compliment?”

 

God, he was still totally in her space, staring at her lips in a way that started a warmth in her belly … and what the hell was she doing flirting with one of Ashley O’Bryan’s himbos?

 

“Take it however you like,” she said politely, stepping back. “Now, I’ve got to get back to work. Enjoy your evening.”

 

“Perhaps the lady will save a dance for me later?”

 

She laughed. Maybe he didn’t realize just how possessive the Merry Widow was? “I think you’ll be … otherwise engaged, Mr. Rackham,” she said, slipping into the crowd.

 

She didn’t breathe easy until she could no longer feel his eyes on her.

 

*

 

Killian watched her disappear into the mass of people, absently scratching his neck.

 

As attractive as she’d appeared in photographs, Emma Swan was even more beautiful in person. And there was just something about her, something familiar, and not just the pendant ornamenting her very lovely chest.

 

His original plan was to charm her into a dance or two; he was certain he could relieve her of the pendant without her even realizing it was gone. He’d done it before.

 

But now he was reconsidering. 

 

He wanted her, was incredibly drawn to her, and he didn’t think he had imagined the spark of interest in her eyes — at least until he had claimed to be a guest of the widow O’Bryan. Of course, the woman wasn’t even going to be here tonight, so it had seemed like a safe excuse for not being on the invite list.

 

It had been a slight miscalculation, though. He’d seen the way Emma’s appraising look had changed to dismissal. He was, as far as she was concerned, nothing but some gigolo looking to romance his way into a comfortable living.

 

But there was that initial attraction, and he could work with that.

 

In fact, he suspected he would very much enjoy working with that. If he had his way,  they would _both_ enjoy it immensely, and he’d have that necklace — and hopefully the answers he sought.


	3. Chapter 3

He spent two hours watching Emma. She moved through the crowd, gracefully mingling, chatting with guests and brushing off a number of obviously interested men. She carried a glass of champagne that she never sipped from and managed to make five complete circuits of the building, briefly checking in with each of her employees. 

 

Several times, she stopped to check her phone, frowning at whatever she saw there.

 

He wanted to know who was calling or texting her; he wanted to know _everything_ about her.

 

After her second pass-through of the ballroom, he intercepted her near the bar.

 

“Miss Swan, perhaps I might have that dance now?”

 

She tilted her head and him, frowning. “Mr. Rackham. It’s funny; I haven’t seen Mrs. O’Bryan at all this evening.”

 

Clearly, she wasn’t going to let that go. Perhaps claiming to be the widow’s latest conquest wasn’t his best idea. “Yes, unfortunately, I received a text from her that she’s not going to make it.”

 

“Mmm-hmmm.”

 

He didn’t quite like the way she was looking at him; he felt like she saw entirely too much. Fortunately, he knew the effect he had on women, and he used it to full advantage. Stepping closer, he crowded into her personal space and took the still-full flute from her hand. 

 

“One dance, before I go?” He sat the glass on the bar, hand slipping into hers.

 

She licked her lips, drawing his eyes there like a magnet. With a sigh, she tightened her hand in his and nodded toward the dance floor. “One dance. I do love this song.”

 

He recognized the first notes of “At Last,” as they found a clear space. Swan had a romantic streak, then. He filed that away for future reference as he pulled her into his arms.

 

She raised her eyebrows as he tugged her closer, leaving little space between them; surprisingly, she made no move to pull away. He bit back a smug grin at the small, unsteady gasp that escaped her as their hips swayed together momentarily. Their eyes caught and held, and he saw a perfect reflection of the thrum of desire that built in his blood, nearly making him forget why he was here in the first place.

 

His fingers itched to touch her, and he gave in to the urge, moving his hand from her waist to trace the chain of her necklace, feeling the metal and the silk of her skin under his fingertips. Her gasp was louder this time, accompanied by a shiver she couldn’t hide. He wished they were alone on the dance floor, wanted to follow his fingers with his mouth and see and feel and taste her response.

 

Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke. “This pendant, it’s lovely.”

 

“It’s … it’s a family heirloom,” she said, so softly he could barely hear her over the music.

 

He knew he should stop touching her, but he couldn’t seem to make himself. He was surprised she hadn’t shut him down already, and he wondered if she felt the same pull toward him. Passion, lust, attraction — whatever he’d felt before was nothing to the need he was feeling now. The strange part was, it wasn’t only sexual. He felt there was some sort of connection between them, though they’d never met.

 

He finally reached the pendant itself, unable to hold back a shudder as he touched it and felt the familiar jolt.

 

Magic.

 

Of course, he’d expected it. Why else would the Home Office be willing to pay so much for one piece of jewelry? What he hadn’t expected was that the pendant would feel … familiar. It was increasingly hard to breathe, and he felt suddenly like he was on the edge of something important, something he should already know …

 

“Mr. Rackham!” 

 

He dropped the pendant, which he realized he’d been clutching in his hand. He half-expected Swan to take a swing at him, and he knew he’d deserve it by the way he was groping her — well, groping her necklace, anyway. They weren’t even dancing anymore.

 

But she didn’t seem angry; in fact, she looked worried.

 

“Are you okay? You got really pale all of a sudden. We have a doctor on call if you need one.”

 

“I could use some air,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. He’d never had a reaction quite like that to any of the artifacts before; truthfully he’d never had a reaction like that to a woman, either, and he wondered if there was a connection.

 

She nodded briskly, seemingly back to herself when not in his arms, and led him across the ballroom to a set of doors that opened onto a dimly-lit balcony.

 

The cool air instantly cleared his head, but he still allowed Emma to guide him to the wrought-iron railing overlooking a garden below, where twinkling white lights twisted around trees and highlighted paths into the darkness. 

 

“Better?” she asked.

 

“Much.” He shucked off his jacket and offered it to her. “You must be cold, though.”

 

“I … a little,” she admitted. She made to take the jacket, but he stepped closer instead, slipping it over her shoulders and drawing his hands down her bare arms. She shivered again, and he didn’t think it was only the chill in the air affecting her.

 

He could — should — take the pendant now, he knew. Could lift it right from her lovely neck and disappear while she was still too distracted to notice. It would probably be safer than taking her to bed; he had the feeling that just one night with Emma Swan would never be enough. Maybe it would be better to walk away now, never see her again.

 

“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

 

“Why would I need a physician when I have you to care for me, love?” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching her, and his fingers moved to trace her jaw.

 

“I was just doing my job.” Her level voice was a direct contrast to the way her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into his touch.

 

“You’re very passionate … about your work.”

 

“Mr. R—” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, suddenly violently opposed to hearing her call him by his alias. 

 

Why should he care? It was ridiculous, but he wanted to hear his name — his real name — on her lips.

 

His confused thoughts were immediately cut off when Emma slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss. His mind blanked for a moment before instinct kicked in and he pulled her flush against him and tilted his head, deepening the kiss, tongue slipping in to tease hers.

 

He flashed with heat from head to foot, and a wave of dizziness hit him. And then the images started.

 

As Emma pulled away with a gasp, he stood stock still, _remembering_.

 

He dimly heard her apologize (“Oh God, I don’t know why I … I shouldn’t have done that”) and could say nothing as she fled, dropping his jacket on the way. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only shake as the memories flooded his brain.

 

_His mother, beautiful and sad and sick — Liam saying goodbye, telling him to be a good boy — the letter, saying his brother was lost at sea — the kindness of the king and queen, taking him in — the princess, Princess Emma, his friend — golden curls and green eyes and spunk — the curse, “Come back to us, take care of each other”— an attack, the king being hurt — the darkness of the wardrobe and of the forest on the other side — curling his arm around the princess and promising her they would be fine — the police officers, the kind lady who said she would take them to their new home — the strange vehicle, Emma crying and a loud, screeching sound and crash —_

 

It was real.

 

All of it was real. The dreams he’d had. The magic. His purpose.

 

He had been meant to stay with Emma, to watch over her until she could break the curse.

 

And he had failed completely.

 

*

 

Emma felt drunk.

 

No, she felt drugged. She took a moment to ponder whether he could have slipped something into her drink before she remembered that she hadn’t actually taken a drink all night. Besides, the further she got away from the man, the more clear-headed she felt.

 

It was all him.

 

She’d been attracted to men before, but never — not even with Neal, her first love — had she felt so drawn to one. She huffed as she remembered how she’d behaved, acting like a brainless, horny teenager. She hadn’t even realized she was going to kiss him until she’d done it. They were so close, his thumb brushing her bottom lip, and she’d felt the overwhelming need to know what his mouth would feel like on hers.

 

She had kissed Ashley O’Bryan’s boy toy.

 

Though really, she could hardly use the term “boy” when referring to him; she could almost still feel all the lean muscle of his body pressed up against hers and his mouth all but devouring her … and she should really, really stop thinking about that right now.

 

Sighing, she snagged another glass of champagne and sipped at it, wishing she could get something with a little more kick. The crowd was thinning now, some instinct that the party was winding down was making its way through the ballroom. 

 

Emma spotted the event planner leaning against the bar, looking quite pleased with herself. Fund-raising must have gone well. Settling next to her, Emma chatted with her, absently watching people say goodbye to friends and frenemies on their way out. All the while, her mind focused on the man outside. Why had he come tonight if his wealthy mistress wasn’t going to be here? Why had he flirted with her? What was it about him that turned her into a mess of uncontrollable hormones?

 

“I didn’t see Ashley O’Bryan here tonight,” she said casually.

 

The woman nodded. “Yes, I was hoping to see what ridiculous dress she would wear … and what her date would be like! But if I recall correctly, she sent a large donation a couple weeks ago with her apologies. She’s in Bora Bora or the Caymans or someplace this whole month.”

 

“Must be nice,” Emma said, forcing a smile.

 

She continued to make small talk with the woman, but her mind was racing. He’d shown up with an invitation, which she hadn’t even looked at, claiming to be meeting a woman who was never planning to show up in the first place. And his name, damn it. Jack Rackham, a pirate’s name. She’d read articles about a thief, known as something cheesy — Blackbeard maybe? — who used pirates’ names as aliases. She hadn’t paid much attention since the guy had never been known to work in Boston, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

 

Her eye caught on a older woman walking by wearing a jeweled necklace worth more than the house she grew up in, and she knew she had to see if he was at least still around. With a quick farewell to her companion, she made her way back to the balcony.

 

He was still there.

 

She let out the breath she’d been holding and wordlessly approached him. He stared at her, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

 

“You came back.”

 

She stared back at him, wondering if he could really be the thief she suspected he was. Holding his eyes, she slipped the handcuffs out of her clutch. She reached for his hand, and before she could change her mind she snapped one cuff around his wrist and the other to the railing.

 

Instead of being angry, he looked amused.

 

“Do you always carry handcuffs in your purse? Swan, you’re a woman after my own heart.”

 

“I like to be prepared,” she said, stepping back slightly. Actually, she’d run into an old family friend earlier, and the man had asked her to return the cuffs to her father. She wasn’t even going to ask why a respected circuit court judge had needed some of Swan Security’s handcuffs. There were things she didn’t ever want to know.

 

But it certainly came in handy now.

 

“What’s your name?” she asked. “Your real name.”

 

“You know it,” he said, tugging at the cuffs. “Is this really necessary, Swan? I can think of much more enjoyable ways of tying me up.”

 

“It’s not Jack Rackham,” she said. “Though I gather you like to use a lot of pirates’ names in your line of work.”

 

He didn’t even deny it, shrugging like it was no big deal.

 

“You’re a smart one, love,” he said. “Bloody brilliant, you are. But I meant what I said. You know my name; you’ve only forgotten.”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but we’ve never met before tonight. I just want to know, what were you here to steal? Did you take it already?”

 

“Emma. We knew each other as children, played together. You know me.” When she just shook her head again, he sighed. “Killian. It’s Killian Jones.”

 

She stepped back a pace, shocked. Killian Jones was a boy she remembered from her childhood. A boy with blue eyes and dark hair. She remembered play sword fights and imaginary adventures and his hand tight around hers when her father —

 

No. None of that was real.

 

“How do you know that name?” she hissed.

 

“It’s me, Swan. I worked in the kitchens at the castle and we were tutored together by the cricket. I was there when the castle was attacked and your —”

 

“No.” She was vibrating with anger by now. “How do you know all that? Did you break into my apartment? Did you read my journals? _What the hell kind of creep uses someone’s childhood delusions against them_?”

 

“I’ve no idea what journals you’re talking about, but Emma, it’s not a delusion; it’s all real. I was there. We were both there. I had forgotten everything until we kissed, but I’ve been dreaming about that last day for years now. I was supposed to protect you, to make sure you could break the curse. Swan, you have to listen to me.”

 

She stepped closer, watching his face as he spoke, and she could tell he was speaking the truth — at least, what he believed was the truth. But it couldn’t be true; that was crazy. So maybe he was nuts as well. She should go now, call the police. If he was this pirate thief, he belonged in jail, and if he was a nutcase, surely they could get him some help.

 

“You don’t believe me.”

 

“I believe that you believe what you’re saying,” she said.

 

“You think I’m crazy.”

 

“I —” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter when he grasped her arm and pulled her to him, crashing his lips against hers. On instinct, she kissed him back for a moment; she found she almost couldn’t _not_ kiss him back.

 

With a frustrated growl, she pushed away from him. “What the hell?”

 

He sent her a cocky grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shrugged. “I remembered it all when you kissed me, so I was trying to return the favor.”

 

“Well, thanks for that,” she said sarcastically. “All I remember is that you’re a crazy person, and possibly a thief. I’m calling the police; they can deal with you.”

 

She could call from right there, keeping an eye on him, but even being in proximity to the guy was messing with her head. She started for the door, hesitating when he spoke again.

 

“I remember your green dress, with some kind of flowers on it. Buttercups? And it had blood all over it, blood from your father, the king.”

 

She froze, feeling shock wash over her as she quickly stepped through the doors and headed down the hall toward the security room. She tried to steady her breathing, leaning against the wall outside the room. She had never told anybody about that, had never even written it in her journal because it was too much.

 

She remembered it so clearly. Her mother saying goodbye, her father fighting off a bunch of soldiers all dressed in black. She remembered the huff her father had made when he was stabbed; he hadn’t even cried out. And there was blood everywhere.

 

Killian was there, trying to fight off an armed man with just a wooden sword. Killian, who was her best friend, keeping her safe, pushing her into the wardrobe. Saving her life.

 

She took a shaky breath and made to grab her mother’s pendant. She was running back to the balcony before she even fully registered that it was gone. The bastard had conned her with stories of her past, just as she’d thought, and snatched the necklace right off her neck. Probably while he was kissing her.

 

She burst through the doors, groaning as she saw with her eyes what she’d already known deep down — he was gone. 

 

The balcony was empty except for her father’s handcuffs, dangling from the railing.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Emma was exhausted. Her lower back was aching, her feet were killing her and even though it was nearly midnight, Neal was still texting her, refusing to take a hint. Slipping into her apartment, she closed the door and leaned on it, kicking off her heels with a heavy sigh. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in about 12 hours. She dropped her head back with an audible thump, pondering whether or not she had anything edible in the house and if it was worth the effort to check.

 

Thinking about that was a nice distraction from remembering her own epic screw-up: namely, the fact that she had basically escorted a master thief through her own security, thrown herself at him and let him steal a family heirloom right off her neck. The worst of it was, if she wanted to report her necklace stolen, she’d almost certainly have to tell her father what she’d done.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

She glared down the dark hallway, remembering that he must have broken into her place at some point and read her journals. There’s no other way he could have come up with all that stuff about her parents, their kingdom and Killian Jones.

 

She tried to ignore the voice in her head reminding her that he knew things that she’d never written down anywhere.

 

None of that was real. It couldn’t be.

 

Heaving another sigh, she plodded down the hall toward the living room, planning to collapse on the couch and forget for a little while that this night had even happened.

 

Unfortunately, the couch was already occupied.

 

Jack Rackham-slash-Killian Jones —or whatever the hell his name was — was sprawled on her couch like he owned it. He’d tossed his jacket over the back of the couch, lost the tie and unbuttoned the shirt an indecent amount, showing off the dark hair curling over his chest. He was reading a book — she couldn’t see what it was — and drinking a beer, which he used to salute her just as though he hadn’t stolen from her a couple hours before.

 

“Swan, I thought you’d never get here. The gala’s been over for hours. You work too hard.” He sat up, tossing the book on her coffee table while she stood frozen. He sat the beer next to it on a coaster.  _He might be a thief, but at least he’s considerate_ , she thought, only slightly hysterically.

 

He stood, and the motion released her from her own momentary paralysis; turning, she ran for the door. She never even heard him behind her until he caged her, hands planted on the door on either side of her, body pressed against her back. She tried to stomp on his instep — which would have been much more effective had she still been wearing her heels — but he anticipated the move, pulling his foot out of the way and pressing her more firmly into the door.

 

“You bastard,” she hissed, trying — and failing — to access more of her self-defense training. What was next? A sharp elbow to the gut? She didn’t even think she had room to try that.

 

“Swan. _Emma_. I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. “We just need to talk.”

 

He sounded sincere, but that evening had made it crystal clear that she couldn’t trust her instincts where he was concerned. Before she could decide how to react, she saw something flash out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to find him dangling her pendant in front of her face.

 

“Look, I’ve brought your necklace back. A peace offering?”

 

Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly around, gritting her teeth as her body brushed his on the way.

 

Interestingly, she saw him swallow hard and take a half-step back so they weren’t touching anymore. She held out her hand, and he dropped the pendant into it, slowly letting the chain follow until he folded her hand around the whole thing.

 

“I’m sorry, love,” he said in a low voice, running his thumb over her knuckles before releasing her hand. “I simply thought if I took the necklace and then returned it, you might realize that you can trust me.”

 

She laughed shortly. “Fool me once …”

 

“Look, when I took this job, I didn’t know who you were.” He held her eyes with his, as though begging her to see the truth in his words. “I didn’t remember anything. But now I know, you’re my … princess. I’m supposed to protect you, Emma. I’m supposed to help you break the curse.”

 

“The curse.” She nodded, smirking. “ _Right_.”

 

“I know how it sounds. But it’s the truth.”

 

“Okay, if it’s honesty hour: Were you there for my necklace all along?”

 

He sighed. “Aye. I was hired to take it. But I was planning to keep it for myself, if you want the whole truth. I’ve been dreaming about it for years, and I thought it might help me remember my past. Instead, _you_ helped me remember; it all came back when we kissed.”

 

She frowned at the mention of the kiss, then focused on something less personal. “Why would anyone want you to steal this? The emerald is probably worth something, but most of its value to me is sentimental.”

 

He took her hand again, still curled around the pendant. “It’s magic, Swan. Can’t you feel it?”

 

She definitely felt something, but she was pretty sure it was more about him and less about the necklace. She mentally kicked herself. The guy was a thief. He’d stolen from her and broken into her apartment. He’d physically prevented her from leaving. She should be afraid — or at the very least, angry. She should be using his distraction to kick him in the junk and get away, grab her gun, call the police.

 

She shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss or how just touching his hand made her feel warm all over.

 

_Dammit, Emma, focus._

 

“I don’t feel anything,” she lied. “And I don’t believe in magic.”

 

He frowned. “Neither did I, love, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

 

When she just stared at him, he sighed, scratching absently behind his ear. “Look, Swan —” A particularly loud and insistent rumble from her stomach interrupted whatever he’d been about to say, and she blushed as he laughed. “Come on, then. You must have some food around here. You eat, and I’ll tell you what I remember. Then you can decide if you’re going to have me arrested or let me go.”

 

He turned his back on her and headed for the kitchen. She had a taser within easy reach; she could grab it and take him out. She could run, barricade herself in her room (where she had a gun), call the police.

 

Instead, she followed him wordlessly into the kitchen.

 

He headed straight for the fridge and started rummaging around.

 

“Not much in here,” he said. “Hmmm, how does a grilled cheese sound?”

 

Cautiously, she watched him as she slipped onto a stool at the big center island counter. “Sounds good.”

 

It was one of the most surreal moments of her life, sitting in her kitchen watching a thief make her a grilled cheese sandwich while he told her a fairy tale.

 

He told her about his mother, a lovely, sad woman whose husband had left her with two sons and no money. She was ill and died when he was very young, leaving his older brother to care for him. Liam was 10 years older than Killian and had entered the royal navy at 16, leaving his brother in the care of an aunt. When Liam had died in service of the crown six months later and could no longer pay for his brother’s upkeep, the aunt tossed the boy, only 6, out on the street.

 

Emma ate her sandwich and listened in silence, trying to ignore the feeling that she knew all this. She’d heard it before. She felt a sort of kinship with him, even if his story was ridiculous. He was an orphan, like her, but unlike her, he’d never found a home.

 

“Another naval officer knew about me,” he said. “I guess it must have gotten back to your father, because one day a couple of the dwarves found me on the streets and brought me to him.”

 

“My father, the king,” she said.

 

He smiled. “Right. He said my brother was a hero, and he wanted to help me. He offered me work in the kitchens and a place to live, only so long as I always attended lessons with his daughter. You.”

 

She pushed her empty plate away. “You understand that this all sounds crazy.”

 

“Aye.” He leaned on the counter. “The last few years, I’ve done some jobs for a group called the Home Office. Most of the items I’ve … procured for them have a certain feel to them. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like your pendant.”

 

“Magic?” She didn’t believe, of course, but she wanted — needed — to hear it all.

 

“Magic. The night after I took the first item, that’s when I started having the dream. Of the last day at the castle, when the curse hit. It took a while before I remembered more details, but I can see it so clearly now.”

 

He spoke of her mother saying goodbye, of hallways filled with the sights and sounds of battle, of her father fighting off clusters of black knights single-handedly. And she could see it all in her head, just like her memories; worse, she knew what came next. She couldn’t stand to hear him talk about watching her father be stabbed, maybe killed. Though she told herself over and over that it wasn’t real, the memory still burned.

 

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to hear the rest.”

 

He paused, looking at her — looking _into_ her — before nodding slowly. “After … after everything, we went through the wardrobe. It was made from a tree, and it was a very tight fit, but we managed. There was kind of a rush … it’s hard to explain.”

 

“Like the first drop on a roller coaster,” she said softly.

 

“ _Exactly_ like that,” he said, nodding. “And when I finally opened the door again, we were in the forest. We’d no idea where we were. We could have still been in the Enchanted Forest, but it felt different somehow. And then when I saw the cars and electric lights I knew we were in a different realm.”

 

Someone had called the police, and Killian had made up a story. “You hadn’t said a word since we came through, and you wouldn’t even answer me when I asked if you were all right. So I told them that I was an orphan, and I’d found you wandering in the forest alone. I said you’d only told me your name was Emma, and hadn’t said another word.”

 

He paused, as though to let her speak, but she didn’t know what to say. She thought she remembered, but this part was much less clear in her mind. She’d never even tried to write these memories down.

 

“It wasn’t until the social worker was taking us to a group home that I realized I should have told them we were siblings, so we wouldn’t be separated. But I was only 8; I just told them the first thing that came to mind. I was trying to figure out how to get around that when the accident happened. I think we were hit by another car; it’s not very clear. When I woke up later in the hospital, I didn’t remember anything, not until the dreams, not until I met you.”

 

Emma felt strange, almost as though there was a disconnect between her body and her mind. Everything around her slowed, except her heart, which seemed to be about to beat right out of her chest. If she accepted what he said, her whole life could change. If it was true, then her parents — her mother, at least — and the other people of the Enchanted Forest were depending on her. It wasn’t a responsibility that she’d asked for, and she didn’t want it, couldn’t handle it. She barely had a handle on her life as it was. Henry was her priority, and her job. And what the hell would she tell her parents?

 

“You should go,” she said, finally, staring at the countertop instead of looking at him. “I don’t … I don’t believe in any of this. I can’t — I have too much to deal with already, I can’t be responsible for your delusions, too.”

 

He moved around the island, standing close but not touching her. 

 

“Swan.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed and snagged a pad of paper and a pen she had at the end of the island. He scribbled a number on it and pushed it toward her. “I’m not going to push you, but here’s my cell. Call me when you decide to accept who you are.”

 

She didn’t move from her spot until she heard the front door close behind him, then she followed his path and locked the door and deadbolt behind him. She stood, leaning her forehead against the door before she pushed away and went straight to her desk in the spare room that doubled as her office.

 

Digging through the bottom drawer, she pulled out the annoyingly thin file she’d used to document her failed search for her birth parents years ago. One of the first things in the file was a news article from a paper in Maine, telling of a girl found wandering in the woods alone. 

 

She was found, the article said, by an 8-year-old orphan boy.

 

*

 

“No,” Emma said, glaring at her ex over the table in the diner. “At this point all you’re doing is pissing me off.”

 

“But I really want him to meet my father.”

 

“I get that. I do. But honestly? You and Henry barely know each other. He had a great time staying at your place the other night, but a week away from home, away from me, in another state is just out of the question right now.”

 

She stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, absently slipping her fingers over the folded square of paper with Killian’s phone number on it. True to his word, he had given her space; it had been four days since she’d seen him. She hadn’t called, wasn’t sure she was going to call, but she had taken to carrying the number with her all the time.

 

“Look,” she said. “It’s been years since you’ve seen your father, Neal. You said your mom left him and took you, right? Well, I don’t know the details, but she must have had a reason for it.”

 

“He had … some anger issues,” he said quietly. “But he’s over that now, I’m sure of it. Mom had no right to keep me from him.”

 

“Yeah,” she said carefully. “But the road works both ways, right? He could have come to see you, too.”

 

“He couldn’t really do that.”

 

“Why not? He lives in Maine, not on Mars.” She sighed. They were getting off track, and it didn’t really matter anyway. “Hey, it’s great that you get to see him. But you need to take this chance to get to know him again, without bringing Henry into it. If things go well, maybe he could come to visit. Or next summer, maybe you could take Henry there for a weekend or something.”

 

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Okay, you’re right, you’re right. It’s just … I’ve kind of been seeing someone. It’s pretty serious.”

 

She felt her stomach drop. It was just a reflex, really; she in no way wanted Neal back. But the idea that he could be in a serious, happy relationship while she was still alone stung a lot. She’d loved him so much when she was younger, and she’d ended up pregnant and alone. If she hadn’t had her parents’ help, she’d probably have had to give Henry up. A few years later, Neal had come back to town; it was quite a shock for him to find out that he was a father, and it was quite a shock to her to find out that he was going to jail soon afterward.

 

“And?”

 

“And Tamara … that’s her name, she thought it would be a fun way for her to get to know Henry.”

 

_Over my dead body._

 

She tossed some money on the table to cover her share of the lunch. “I can’t let you take him to Maine, Neal. Besides, Friday’s my birthday, and we have a family thing that night.”

 

“Right, your birthday,” he said, grinning. “Happy Birthday, Ems. Since I won’t see him for a week, do you think I could pick the kiddo up from school Friday? We could get ice cream or something before I drop him at your folks’ place.”

 

“No ice cream,” she said, chuckling as his face dropped. Sometimes he was just like a big kid himself. “We’ll have plenty of that Friday night. But there is a great shaved ice place in the park by his school.”

 

“Great! That’ll be fun,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”

 

“You’re welcome. And good luck with your father.”

 

Back in her car, she pulled the phone number out of her pocket, smoothing it open. It was already looking worn from all the times she’d already looked at it.

 

Even Neal was confronting his past and looking for a happy future. Shouldn’t she be able to do the same?

 

Sighing, she refolded the paper and stuck it back in her pocket.

 

After her birthday, she’d spend the weekend trying to decide what she really wanted to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Several days of following his princess led Killian to a couple realizations. First, he had all the patience in the world to plot and carry out a near-impossible heist but absolutely none when it came to sitting in the car on a stakeout. Second, coming down from a Mountain Dew-induced caffeine high was nearly as bad as having a hangover. And third, Emma Swan worked too damn hard.

 

He’d promised to give Swan her space, but there were only so many ways he could entertain and distract himself in the generic off-the-radar hotel room while waiting for her call, only so many games of Candy Crush he could play without wanting to throw his laptop out the window.

 

Killian hadn’t had the dream since they’d kissed and his memories had returned, but he still had the feeling that something was wrong. He knew now that he was supposed to watch over Emma and help her break the curse, but if she wouldn’t even talk to him, that made his job difficult.

 

He lasted a day.

 

Clicking through channel after channel on Sunday night, he made a decision. Doing what he could to protect Emma wasn’t violating his promise not to push her. If he did his job well, she wouldn’t even know he was around.

 

He started tailing her the next morning, spending far too long in the nondescript beige Toyota he’d rented. It wasn’t difficult to follow her, since aside from dropping her boy off at school she spent all bloody day inside her office before picking the kid up at her parents’ house and heading home. He’d seen her home office with its messy desk piled with paperwork, and he had no doubt that she spent even more time working after her son went to bed.

 

Willingness to work hard was a family trait, one he was sure her parents would be proud of, but she was almost literally burying herself in work. It wasn’t right. Swan was a princess. She was meant for better things.

 

He was playing Bejeweled Blitz on his phone when he spied her actually leaving the office on Wednesday afternoon. Dropping the phone into the passenger seat — ignoring the pathetically low score it displayed — he watched Swan walk to her car in the parking lot. If he momentarily was distracted by the sway of her hips and the lines of her long, gorgeous legs showcased by her skirt, it couldn’t be helped. After all, he was only human. 

 

She was royalty, and he was just an orphaned kitchen boy. She wasn’t for him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t look, right?

 

He followed at a distance, as far as he could get without losing her in traffic, until she reached a small diner. He parked, watching as she greeted a familiar-looking man before they both disappeared inside.

 

Keeping an eye on the diner’s door, he opened his laptop and looked through the files he had on Emma. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for.

 

The guy’s name was Neal Cassidy, an ex-con and the father of her son.

 

Again he thought, Emma was meant for better things.

 

His research into Emma had only briefly touched on Cassidy. He hadn’t bothered digging for more information when he found that they weren’t together anymore.

 

And yet, she was still seeing him.

 

Frowning, Killian pushed back a surge of something foreign and uncomfortable — jealousy? — and focused on the problem at hand. 

 

They shared a child; they were probably only meeting about the boy. It was a positive thing, he figured, for parents to be on good terms with one another even if they weren’t romantically involved. The fact that his princess had had a serious relationship with a con man irked him (surely even a kitchen boy was better than a con man?).

 

Something about the guy bothered him, and he told himself it wasn’t just jealousy rearing its ugly head. His instincts had always served him well, and they were telling him right now that Cassidy was bad news.

 

He typed up a few questions and ideas to look into later, during the next boring stretch outside Swan’s office. It was time to do a full background on Neal Cassidy, see what secrets he was hiding.

 

Less than an hour later, Emma and her ex left the diner. Killian was pleased to see that while they seemed friendly, their body language didn’t reflect intimacy in any way. For a moment, he considered following Cassidy instead of Emma, but he decided to do that background check on the guy first.

 

He wanted a better idea of who he was dealing with here.

 

*

 

Killian had a headache the size of Mount Everest, and one attempt showed him the folly of trying to move. Not only was he unable — his hands were apparently tied behind his back — but the slightest shift set his head to swimming and made his stomach want to revolt. He tried his best to take deep, even breaths, hoping to calm his stomach. It had taken him a little longer than it should have upon regaining consciousness to realize that the darkness and stuffy feeling he was experiencing wasn’t just from a small room or closet but was actually a bag over his head. The only thing that could make the situation worse was to be sick at that moment.

 

Killian Jones was not often a violent man, but even in his weakened state his mind was on revenge. When he got his hands on his assailants, he would not be held responsible for his actions.

 

Still taking deep breaths, which came a bit easier each time, he tried to remember how he’d ended up in this predicament. He had been looking into Emma’s ex. The background check didn’t turn up much in the way of new information, but Killian did find out the guy’s address. He’d seen Swan and her boy home safely, without their knowledge of course, then followed the GPS on his phone to Cassidy’s apartment. 

 

The complex was a nice-looking place, with brick buildings encircling a large courtyard with lots of landscaping to give it a suburban feel even in the city. Killian walked in purposefully, like he belonged there. As was almost always the case, attitude was everything. Nobody questioned his presence, so he quickly found a wrought iron chair at a table beside a small fountain across from Cassidy’s building. He’d settled into the shadows to watch, aiming to get a feel for the complex and its inhabitants. 

 

He didn’t see Cassidy, though his car was in the lot. Based on the other cars, as well as the clothing and general air of the other apartment dwellers coming and going, the complex seemed a bit out of the price range for an ex-con working at a pawn shop. 

 

He’d made a mental note to check out the complex online and see if he could find rent figures, as well as to dig deeper to see if Cassidy had any other legitimate income. If he had to guess, he’d say the guy was pulling in illegal money somehow; if that were the case, it would almost be his duty to keep Cassidy away from Emma.

 

Maybe it was a little hypocritical, considering, but he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoy it immensely.

 

He’d watched a little longer, deciding to come back in the morning after Swan was safely ensconced at work. Cassidy should be at work then, too, and he planned to have a little look around the man’s apartment, see what he could dig up.

 

Once he’d decided there was nothing more he could learn that evening, he’d stood to leave. After only a few steps, he froze, seeing Cassidy come out of his building, laughing with a woman at his side. A woman Killian easily recognized even in the dim lighting.

 

Tamara.

 

“What the bloody —” His muttered question had been cut off when he’d suddenly sensed something off. The noise of the nearby fountain had drowned out enough sound that he hadn’t realized until too late that someone was behind him. 

 

And then … nothing. Just waking up with a headache and a burning desire to throttle Tamara and whoever was specifically responsible for said ailment. He had no doubt Tamara was involved, so it followed that her usual partner Greg was the one who’d bashed him over the head.

 

Right on cue, he heard the noise of a door opening and footsteps coming his way. The bag was yanked off his head with no finesse at all, and he winced at the pain in his head. A glance told him he was in an apartment, but he didn’t recognize it. 

 

It was, as he’d suspected, that bloody moron Greg, smirking at him.

 

“Where’s your girl, mate?” he managed. He was pretty sure he was slurring his words, and he felt very sick to his stomach. _Do not throw up, Jones_. “Oh, that’s right, she’s having a liaison with another man. Not exactly the faithful type, is she, then?”

 

Greg twisted the sack in his hands and glared at him, but made no move to attack. “She’s following orders,” the bastard said. “Just like me. And we’re going to need a little help from you, too.”

 

*

 

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” Emma tried to dial back the worry in her voice. Her mom was clearly already starting to freak out, and she didn’t want to add any fuel to that fire if she could help it.

 

“Neal has never shown up.” Jeannie Swan’s lips trembled, and she looked close to tears. “I assumed we had our wires crossed and Neal thought he had Henry this weekend. You didn’t know? Did he … he wouldn’t have _kidnapped_ Henry?”

 

Emma took a few deep breaths and paced the room. Something bad could have happened to them, but she knew in her gut that Neal, as usual, had decided to get his way whether it was legal or not. Asking for forgiveness, not permission, was practically his life’s motto. And in this case, he’d asked, been turned down, and decided to do what he wanted, anyway. He’d obviously taken Henry, probably had him halfway to Maine by now. That bastard. He’d played her, and she had fallen for it again.

 

Happy freaking birthday to her. When she caught up to Neal, he was going to wish _he_ had never been born.

 

“I —” She cut herself off as her phone rang. She saw that it was Killian calling. Awesome timing, as usual. She huffed out a breath and sent the call to voicemail.

 

She didn’t know what to tell her mom. For sure, if her father found out, he’d insist on calling the police. She was tempted to do that herself, since she’d specifically told Neal he couldn’t take Henry out of state. But if he got arrested, he’d have to go back to jail, and then Henry would never get to see him. She knew that somehow, Neal would make _her_ the bad guy in this situation. She just needed a few minutes to think things through.

 

Of course, that’s not how her life worked out, in the history of ever.

 

Her phone rang again, and her mother was sending her looks across the room, concern written all over her face.

 

Sighing, Emma answered. “I don’t have time for this right now,” she told Killian.

 

“I know, love, your boy is gone.”

 

She stopped dead for a moment before barging into the kitchen and out the back door, away from her mother’s ears. “And how exactly do you know that?” She was proud at how even her voice was when she just wanted to scream bloody murder.

 

“Since you refused the pleasure of my company, I was looking into your charming ex’s background,” he said, his voice weary. She wondered if she was imagining a slight slur to his speech. Before she could ask if he’d been drinking, he continued.  “Two … I think it was two nights ago I was watching his home and saw him with a woman that I know. The one who hired me to steal your pendant.”

 

“Excuse me? Who is she?”

 

“I know her as Tamara, though I’m not certain that’s her real name,” he said, and Emma clenched her fist, recognizing the name instantly. Neal’s girlfriend wanted her pendant? Why? “Before I could figure out what was going on, someone knocked me out, and when I woke I was tied up. … Look, Swan, I think we need to speak about this in person.”

 

Emma was frozen, her brain trying to process the idea that someone had attacked Killian and apparently kept him prisoner. That meant it wasn’t just Henry’s stubborn ass of a father who was involved, but someone who wasn’t afraid to get violent. For all his faults, Neal would never hurt their son, but what about this other party?

 

“Damn right we do,” she said. “Where are you?”

 

“I’m at Cassidy’s,” he said. “I’m still a bit … well, I don’t think I should drive in my condition. I’m a bit dizzy.”

 

“You probably have a concussion,” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

*

 

Friday evening traffic was a bitch, so she had plenty of time to stew over the situation on the way to Neal’s. 

 

She’d lied to her mother, saying that she realized she’d mistakenly told Neal that he could have Henry this weekend. Then she’d skipped out on her own birthday dinner with an excuse about helping a friend with car trouble. Thankfully, she managed to escape before her father got home. Her mom could never tell when she was lying, but her dad always knew.

 

Gripping her steering wheel tightly, she tried to control her road rage and panic so she could think straight. This woman, Tamara, was after her family for some reason. She hired Killian to steal from her, and she was dating Emma’s ex. Now they’d attacked Killian and possibly kidnapped Neal and Henry?

 

She pulled into the parking lot at Neal’s place and rushed toward his apartment. All of this was somehow mixed up with her mysterious past, she knew. But she couldn’t get her mind to settle down long enough for her to think clearly.

 

On a hunch, she tried the door to his apartment, and the knob turned easily. Belatedly, she considered the idea that this was a trap and she should have stopped off for her gun. Instead, she yanked her taser out of her purse and held it at the ready while she twisted the door open.

 

The first thing she saw as she stepped into the living area was Killian stretched out on the couch, pale as death. His eyes opened slowly, and he offered her a weak smile.

 

“It’s only me, love,” he said. 

 

She nodded, but continued through the apartment to make sure anyway. The place was nice but small, so it only took a minute to confirm that they were alone. She shoved the taser back in her purse and dropped it on the floor before kneeling beside the couch. Killian had moved into a half-sitting position, still looking like hell. The dark circles under his eyes emphasized how pale he was, and she could see some dried blood on the back of his collar.

 

Though her mind was chanting _Henry, Henry, Henry_ , she shook her head at his condition. “We need to get you to a hospital,” she said finally.

 

“No.” He pushed himself more upright. “We have to go find your son.”

 

She nodded. “I will find Henry, but first I’m going to drop you off —”

 

He shook his head, wincing at the movement. “Where you go, I go, Swan.”

 

“Don’t be a stubborn ass,” she snapped. “A head injury is nothing to mess with.”

 

This time he pushed himself to his feet, and she stood with him, holding her hands up to catch him if he fell. Taking a deep breath, he waved her away.

 

“Tamara’s partner Greg, a rather unpleasant fellow whose guts I plan to rip out with a hook one day, dragged me in here after Cassidy and the lying wench left. He told me they were taking Henry to a town in Maine, and I should follow with you once I got free.” He held up his hands, and she glimpsed what looked like rope burn on his wrists. Reaching out, she took his hands in hers to get a closer look. The skin was raw in a number of places around his wrists. “Greg told me where, so you have to take me along anyway.”

 

“They’re going to Storybook … no, Storybrooke,” she said, easing him back onto the couch. “I’m sure my phone can tell me how to get there as well as you can.”

 

She headed for the kitchen, hearing him mumble, “Shall we make a wager?” as she grabbed a glass and filled it with water. She found a bottle of ibuprofen in the bathroom and returned to the living room. While he was taking the pills, she grabbed her phone and entered Storybrooke in the map app. Frowning, she tried a couple different spellings and “Storybook,” too, (just in case), coming up empty.

 

Jones, even in his injured condition, still managed to work up a cocky grin as he watched her. “Problem, darling?”

 

Scanning the room, she spotted Neal’s laptop on a desk in the corner. She sat and quickly went to Mapquest, groaning as she struck out again. “What the hell?”

 

“You’ll not find it,” Jones said. “It’s where everyone from our land ended up, and it’s hidden.”

 

“Hidden.”

 

“By magic,” he said.

 

“Ohhh, by magic. Of course,” she snarked, looking over at him. “And these criminals know where to find it, how?”

 

He frowned. “No idea, actually. I didn’t ask, as I wasn’t exactly at my best right then. We can ask them when we catch up to them.”

 

“What the hell do they want?” She was so frustrated, she wanted to punch something. Or someone.

 

“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But I’d guess they want you to break the curse for some reason.”

 

Emma closed the computer and rubbed at her forehead. Of course, they just wanted her to break a curse she wasn’t sure she even believed in. No biggie. _“It’s where everyone from our land ended up.”_ If she believed what he was saying, that meant she would find her biological mother there. That was a thought she couldn’t deal with at the moment. 

 

If they had Henry, she had no choice but to go, at any rate.

 

She stood, jerking back as she realized Jones was standing right in front of her. He was looking a little better, not even swaying on his feet now, but she still thought he should see a doctor. 

 

“You could just tell me where it is,” she tried one last time.

 

“I could, certainly, but I won’t. I promised your mother I’d look after you, and I failed the first time,” he said, and her internal lie detector told her he was sincere. “I’ll not fail you again.”

 

Sighing, she hunted up a washcloth and small hand towel, taking a few minutes to gently clean the dried blood from his neck and hair before wrapping a bag of frozen peas in the hand towel for him to use as an ice pack.

 

She had him settled in the passenger seat of her car a few minutes later, tilting the seat back and covering him with a blanket she’d snatched from Neal’s closet. His eyes were heavy, and she laughed a little as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Clearly, you’re going to be a huge help if I run into trouble,” she said.

 

“Jus’ need a rest,” he said. She had to nudge him awake so he could tell her where to go, then she switched on the radio at low volume and pulled out of the parking lot. 

 

He was asleep before they were out of the neighborhood, and she was alone with her thoughts — not the most cheerful company.

 

She didn’t know what they would find in Storybrooke, but she vowed that someone was going to pay for getting her son involved in this mess.


	6. Chapter 6

“What’s your name?”

 

“Swan,” Killian growled in warning.

 

“Nope. That’s mine. Try again.”

 

“I know my name, I know the year, I know the president, you can bloody well let me rest,” he snapped, not opening his eyes.

 

“I’m supposed to keep waking you up if you have a concussion,” she said. “I think. That’s what they always do on TV.”

 

He sighed. The pain in his head was still there, but he felt somewhat less likely to die, so that was a plus. “It’s like being a blasted kid again,” he said grumpily. He put on a high, childish voice, “‘Killian, how deep is the ocean?’ ‘Killian, how do birds fly?’ ‘Killian, do you think dragons are real, or is that just a story my father tells?’”

 

His eyes snapped open and he sat up slightly, only feeling about 30 percent likely to throw up this time. Hurrah for progress. “I had completely forgotten that,” he mused. “You had a thousand questions, all the time, and I always had to try to find the answers. Or, more often than not, invent an answer.”

 

Looking over, he saw she was gripping the steering wheel tightly. Even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, he imagined he could see the white grip of her knuckles. Clearly, she’d forgotten about that as well.

 

Without a word, she steered them off the road and into the lot for a gas station, pulling up to the pumps. He bit back a laugh as she wrestled with her seat belt and pushed her door open without a word.

 

“Was it something I said?” he wondered, biting back a grin when she got out and slammed the door behind her. “That mean we’re not going to talk about it?”

 

Groaning, he flipped the lever to return his seat to the upright position. Moving very slowly, he eased his door open and moved his legs outside the car. He waited a minute to see if the nausea would return before carefully standing up.

 

Emma had finished filling her tank by the time he’d managed to walk around the car and dump the melted, mushy bag of peas in the trash. Still, he was pleased that he no longer felt the world spinning around him; it gave him some hope that he’d actually be useful to Swan when the time came. He had no doubt a fight of some sort was coming, and he needed to be better equipped to watch her back.

 

Emma walked past him as though he wasn’t even there and went into the convenience store. He thought about following but decided not to push his luck, moving back to the car. He’d just gotten settled, shoving the blanket into the back seat and fastening his seat belt, when she returned.

 

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she handed him a bottle of water, tapping a couple of pain relievers out onto her palm to give him next.

 

He gave a quiet thanks and downed the pills.

 

“How’s your head?” she asked quietly.

 

_And, indeed, we’re not going to talk about it._

 

“Hurts,” he answered. “But not as much. No more dizziness or nausea, so an improvement.”

 

She nodded, slipping something out of her jacket. It was a map of Maine. She unfolded it up against the dashboard, then pointed. “This is where we are now,” she said. “Where are we going?”

 

He slid his finger across the map. “Here,” he pointed. “Not far, now.”

 

“There’s nothing there,” she said.

 

He shrugged. “I told you, Swan. It’s hidden.”

 

“By magic,” she said. “Okay, fine. But if nothing’s there …”

 

“You’ll hurt me, et cetera,” he replied. “Got it.”

 

With a sigh, she pulled back onto the road. 

 

They’d driven in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again, softly, so he barely heard it. “I remember, too,” she whispered.

 

He thought about asking what else she remembered but decided not to push his luck.

 

*

 

He’d dozed off without meaning to, so it wasn’t until the car came to a jerky stop that he realized they had arrived.

 

The bug was stopped beside a large white sign with “Welcome to Storybrooke” painted on it.

 

“I’ll be damned,” Swan said.

 

“I guess I’m allowed to live another day,” he said.

 

He knew without even seeing her clearly that she was rolling her eyes. “Smartass.”

 

She hit the gas again, and they followed the road through a forest and into a small downtown area.

 

“Quite picturesque, isn’t it?” he mused.

 

“It’s adorable,” she said flatly. “At least there’s not a lot of town for Neal to hide in.”

 

“I suggest we begin at that establishment,” he said, pointing at the only building still lit. “Granny’s Diner,” the neon sign said. A bit further on another sign advertised Granny’s Bed & Breakfast, the closest thing they’d seen to a hotel in the small town.

 

“Perfect,” she said, pulling into a spot along the street. “I could use a grilled cheese.”

 

“Mmm, with french fries.”

 

“Ugh, no. Onion rings,” she said with a quick grin, getting out of the vehicle.

 

He got out, too, looking curiously around the place. The street was virtually deserted, everything very ordinary. Still, there was something in the air, maybe just beyond the physical. Magic, maybe.

 

Killian huffed out a laugh at his own deep thoughts and followed his princess into the diner.

 

“We’re about to close,” a voice called out. “Leroy, I swear to all that’s holy if … Oh.”

 

As Killian ducked in the door, he saw an elderly lady behind the counter, staring at them curiously. As they watched, she exchanged a glance with a stunning brunette wearing a low-cut top and a belt masquerading as a skirt. The young woman leaned on the broom she held and looked them both over.

 

He sent both ladies an easy grin. “Is it too late for a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches? And perhaps a room for the night?”

 

“Rooms,” Emma corrected him. “We’ll need two.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself, Swan.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t bother to respond.

 

The women exchanged another glance, then the older — Granny, he presumed — nodded tersely. “You can stick around if you don’t mind Ruby here cleaning up around you.”

 

“That would be great, thank you,” Emma said. “Listen, I’m here in town looking for my son.” She pulled out her phone and called up a photo of the boy. “His name is Henry. He’s with his father.”

 

“Sure, Neal,” Ruby said. “He’s married?”

 

Emma glanced at him before she shook her head. “No, we’re not married.”

 

“Oh,” the brunette sighed in relief. “I didn’t want to say that he was here with his girlfriend, but if you already know …”

 

“Right. They’re here, then?”

 

“Room 1, top of the stairs,” Granny said, motioning toward the back of the diner.

 

Killian started to ask if there were any other visitors with them when Swan, naturally, took off without a word.

 

Sighing, he dug out his wallet and handed over a twenty. “Two grilled cheese sandwiches with onion rings, if you’d be so kind, milady,” he said. “We’ll return shortly.”

 

His head was pounding like mad, but he raced to catch up with Emma on the stairs. “Swan, you can’t just go running off without me,” he hissed. “These people are dangerous.”

 

“Yes, and ‘these people’ have my son,” she growled as they hit the top landing. “I’m not leaving him with them a moment longer than I have to.”

 

“Fair point,” he agreed, nodding toward the door to Room 1. “After you.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she pounded on the door. When there was no answer, she knocked harder. “Neal, open up!”

 

She tried once more before looking around the hall helplessly. He saw her focus on a fire extinguisher on the wall, and his hand shot out to stop her before she could do something rash.

 

“I’m a bit insulted, Swan,” he said calmly, pulling his lockpick kit out of an inner pocket in his jacket. “It’s as though you’ve forgotten entirely who you’re dealing with.”

 

“Oh, for pete’s sake, enough bragging, just open it.”

 

Shaking his head, he focused on the lock, opening it in moments — a bit slower than usual, but not bad considering his probable concussion. Bracing himself for another likely head injury, he pushed open the door, to find the room empty.

 

Putting a finger to her lips, Swan motioned for him to step back and pulled a taser out of her pocket. He always did love a woman who could take care of herself. Stepping slowly into the room, she moved toward the closed bathroom door, slipping it open. By her sigh, he assumed the room was as unoccupied as the rest.

 

But perhaps not completely empty.

 

“Emma,” he said, pointing toward the bed. A plain white envelope bearing her name sat directly in the center. She strode toward the bed, snatching up the envelope and ripping it open.

 

He watched her read the note, her frown deepening.

 

“I am going to kill him,” she said, handing over the note.

 

He was a little surprised she’d let him read it, but he was glad, as it saved him the trouble of breaking into her room to steal it later. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he’d manage it in his current state.

 

_Miss Swan_ , it read. Well, then, not from Cassidy. _I have Neal and Henry, and I will return them unharmed as long as you cooperate. Meet me at 8 a.m. at the children’s castle by the water, and I’ll tell you what we require then. I assume you’ll be bringing the thief, but involve no one else, or I’ll be forced to take it out on your loved ones_.

 

“Sounds like your ex is a victim as well,” he said reluctantly.

 

“Yeah, sounds like,” Emma said. “I don’t buy it, though. He wanted to come here, he wanted Henry here, and now conveniently here we all are. But why? What the hell do they want?”

 

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he sighed. “We’ll find out in the morning. For now, let’s get those sandwiches and get checked in.”

 

“I’ve lost my appetite,” she said.

 

“I expect so, but your boy will need you at 100 percent. You need to eat, and at least try to sleep.” She looked so forlorn, so defeated, that he felt it was almost a duty to coax a smile out of her. “If you don’t feel you could sleep, either, I imagine I have a few ways to relax you, if you’d reconsider sharing a room.”

 

She snorted out a laugh, which he counted a victory. “Dream on, Jones.”

 

They trooped back downstairs, just in time to see Granny sliding their plates onto the counter. He inhaled the scent in dramatic fashion. “That smells heavenly, milady,” he said. “If it tastes half as good, I may have to marry you.”

 

The old lady huffed. “Fancy yourself a charmer, eh?”

 

“It’s been said,” he told her, settling next to Emma at the counter. “But I’d take myself off the market for the right woman.”

 

She huffed again, muttering something about “scoundrels” under her breath, and moving toward the kitchen.

 

Swan was looking at him and shaking her head. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

 

He shrugged and pointed at her plate. “Eat something, Swan. Then we can … get right to bed.”

 

Chuckling, she took a bite of her sandwich. Humming to herself, she took another. He smiled as he started to eat as well.

 

“You know, you don’t have to go tomorrow,” Emma said between bites. “You’re still hurt.”

 

“You go, I go,” he said. “That’s the deal.”

 

Before she could answer, there was a clatter as Ruby dropped her broom. “Oh, Mr. Gold, I didn’t see you there!”

 

Turning, Killian saw an older man standing in the back doorway of the diner. He had long hair and stern features; even though he smiled, there was something unpleasantly … reptilian about him. He wore a very nice, very expensive suit, which seemed strangely out of place in Granny’s Diner.

 

“More visitors?” this Mr. Gold said pleasantly. “How curious.”

 

Killian sent him a jaunty wave and went back to his sandwich, hoping to be left alone. Emma, on the other hand, kept staring at the man.

 

He moved toward them, and Killian saw he was limping slightly and using a cane. “We don’t see many strangers around here,” he said. “And you’re the second set today. I’m Mr. Gold, and you are?”

 

Emma glanced back at Killian before answering. “I’m Emma Swan, and this is Killian Jones.”

 

“ _Emma_ ,” the man repeated, his eyes widening before he smiled again. “Lovely name, that.”

 

The moment was broken when Granny bustled forward, handing over an envelope. “The rent, Mr. Gold. It’s all there.”

 

“Thank you, Granny,” he said. “Now, I must go. Good evening to all of you.” He cast a quick glance around at everyone, lingering on Emma before ducking out the back.

 

Clearing his throat, Killian turned back to his meal. “Now _that_ is a charming fellow,” he said. “Granny, tell the truth, is he your beau? Do I have some competition?”

 

“Eat your food, Romeo,” the old lady snapped. “I’d like to make it out of here while I’m still young.”

 

She grumbled some more as she moved out to wipe down the tables, but he noted that her cheeks were pink.

 

“I think she likes me,” he said in a stage whisper, drawing a giggle out of Ruby and an  (affectionate, he liked to think) eye roll from his princess.

 

All in all, not bad for a fellow with a concussion.

 

*

 

He was settled in his room, stripped to his boxers and minty fresh thanks to the complimentary toothbrushes they’d gotten from Granny. There was a drugstore across the way where they could buy the other essentials in the morning, though he hoped they wouldn’t be in town long enough to need much.

 

He was sprawled across the bed, debating the wisdom of bothering his companion across the hall for some more painkillers, when there was a knock at his door. Emma stood outside, wearing a tank top and jeans.

 

“Looking to take me up on my offer, eh, Swan?” he said, leaning on the door jamb.

 

“That would be way more convincing if you didn’t look like you were about to die,” she told him, handing over the bottle of pain reliever. “Thought you might want this.”

 

He smiled, nodding his thanks, and took the bottle. “Ah, my savior.”

 

She shrugged. “I also thought this might help,” she said, holding up a tube of lotion. “I found it in my purse. It’s got aloe vera in it, so it might help with the —” she motioned to the rope burns around his wrists.

 

He started to take the tube, but she pulled it back and motioned toward his bed. “It’ll probably be easier if I just …”

 

He smirked at her but refrained from making the expected quip. Instead, he stopped to toss back a couple of pills before sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

Not saying a word, she opened the lotion and squeezed some into her other hand, leaning closer to him. She was so near that he could feel the warmth of her body, could do nothing but focus on her: The way her golden hair curled over her shoulder, the way her green eyes narrowed as she focused solely on her task, the warm smell of cinnamon and vanilla, the glow of her skin, the firm but gentle feel of her hands as she smoothed the lotion into his wrists.

 

Without warning, her eyes locked with his, and his breath caught in his throat as he remembered exactly what it felt like to kiss her — and pushed back the intense desire to do so again.

 

After what felt like a long pause, she blinked and took a deep breath. He might only have imagined that it sounded as shaky as he felt. 

 

“That’s that,” she said, her voice low. She seemed to suddenly realize that she was still holding his wrist, dropping it quickly and stepping back.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “Thanks for tending to me once again.”

 

“Never know when I might need more locks picked,” she said, shrugging. “Goodnight, Killian.”


	7. Chapter 7

Trying to sleep was probably pointless, but she had to give it her best shot. Staring up at the dark ceiling, Emma tried to clear her mind enough to rest.

 

She did her best to push back her worries about Henry: where he was, if he was safe, if he was aware of what was going on. She trusted that if Neal was really involved in this plot, he would do everything he could to protect her son. But if she was wrong, and he was actually a victim himself … she couldn’t bear to think about it. Killian was right, she needed rest to be at her best for Henry’s sake.

 

Thinking about Killian was a good distraction from her worries about Henry.

 

When he’d been talking earlier, reminiscing about all her questions as a child, she’d known he was telling the truth. She remembered it, too. He was the only person she’d trusted, besides her parents, to tell her the truth. In her mind, he was the smartest person she knew. Maybe his memories were as messed up as hers; it was possible they were in a group home together, and whatever gave her false memories did the same to him.

 

Shaking her head, she wondered which was more unbelievable: that she came from a different world where there was magic, or that she was part of some nefarious experiment that brainwashed children into remembering a whole fantasy life.

 

Either way, it seemed pretty crazy.

 

A lot more pleasant to think about was the way Killian looked when he’d opened the door to her earlier. Of course, _of-freaking-course_ he would have a body to match his insanely good looks. She’d only meant to give him the pain medicine and lotion, but after she’d set eyes on him, she had found herself pushing her way into his room.

 

She’d seen the way he was looking at her, and truthfully, if he hadn’t had a head injury, she probably would have succumbed to the urge to get her hands on more than just his wrists. It had been a long time since she’d had sex; work and taking care of Henry took up 99 percent of her time, and she was really feeling that dry spell all of a sudden. She was hard-pressed to recall a time she’d been so drawn to a man. 

 

She easily called up a mental picture of Killian in nothing but his boxers — really unfairly attractive with his toned, tanned skin and some intriguing scars. Her fingers had itched to explore —from his wrists, to his biceps and shoulders and down through the hair on his chest — but she’d managed to control herself.

 

She would bet he’d be a hell of a distraction. Of course, there was the not insignificant fact that he was a criminal — and might possibly be a little crazy.

 

Which led her back to her first train of thought, an endless circle ensuring that her brain would not turn off long enough to give her any real peace.

 

She finally fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of running (to or from something, she didn’t remember which). When she woke a few hours later, she felt no better than she had before, but she was even more determined to get Henry back.

 

She had a quick shower and fired off a text to Killian, telling him to meet her downstairs for breakfast when he was ready. Tromping downstairs, she claimed a booth for them and quickly ordered pancakes, eggs and bacon. She’d barely touched her food the night before, despite Killian’s encouragement, and she was starving.

 

Killian texted her back that he would be right down, and she was about to ask him if he wanted her to order for him when someone came over to the end of the table, hovering in her periphery.

 

“We don’t get a lot of strangers around here.”

 

Looking away from the phone, she saw a man — the town sheriff if his shiny badge was to be trusted — giving her a tight smile. Emma could spot a lie a mile away, and that smile was a big one. She gave him a quick once-over, taking in the model good looks, tousled brown hair and throwback waistcoat and tie covered by a very worn-looking leather jacket.

 

“Is that a problem, officer?” she asked.

 

“Of course not,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I was just wondering what your business was in Storybrooke.”

 

She shrugged, wondering why he gave a damn why she was there. “Just visiting family.”

 

He looked like he wanted to inquire further, but bit it back. Something about the guy was just … off, almost like he was being forced to question her. Maybe he was asking for his boss?

 

Or maybe she would be less paranoid if she actually got a decent night’s sleep.

 

“Well, enjoy your stay, Miss …?”

 

She sighed and forced a polite smile. “Swan. Emma Swan.”

 

“I’m Graham, the sheriff of Storybrooke. If you need any help while you’re here, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

 

She nodded, gratefully accepting her hot chocolate with cinnamon that Ruby — bless her perfect timing — brought over at that moment. Before Ruby could leave, Emma asked to double her order, since her friend was on the way downstairs.

 

Sheriff Hottie took that as his cue to leave, which it was, and settled a couple of booths away. Facing her, naturally. She could feel his eyes on her; it didn’t strike her as the typical guy checking her out, but she couldn’t put her finger on what was different.

 

Shaking her head, Emma tried to put him out of her mind, scanning the diner’s few other patrons while she waited. Then the front door bell jingled, and every other concern flew out of her mind.

 

Because the woman who came in was her mother.

 

The woman was her age ( _how could that be?_ ), with short, dark hair and a lovely, achingly familiar smile. She wore a blue floral skirt and white blouse with flats — classy and kind of old-fashioned, but not at all what she used to wear — and was carrying a small stack of books. She gave a jaunty wave to the sheriff and moved to a table near the counter, dumping her books on top of it.

 

Emma sat her mug carefully on the table, afraid she might drop it, then froze as she felt the newcomer’s eyes on her. The woman smiled brightly at her — with curiosity rather than recognition on her face — and then turned to talk to Ruby.

 

“It’s such a beautiful morning, Ruby!” she called out, and Emma started to tremble at the familiar sound of her voice.

 

It was her, it was really her.

 

Before she could do something stupid, like rush over and hug her, Killian dropped into the seat opposite her. 

 

“Chivalry dictates that I not mention how exhausted you look this morning, Swan,” he said. “But I suppose it was too much to ask that you would get a decent … what’s wrong?”

 

She was having trouble breathing, much less forming the words, simply nodding in the direction of the counter.

 

Killian twisted in his seat, sending a wave toward Ruby. She knew the second he’d spotted her mother by the way he stopped dead and stared, turning back to Emma with a big smile, which faded as he took a moment to really look at her.

 

“Alright there, Swan?”

 

She shook her head. If she could just look at this logically, she thought she might be able to make it through. But what the hell was logical about any of this? “It’s her,” she whispered.

 

“Aye.”

 

“She hasn’t aged.”

 

He shrugged. “Part of the curse, perhaps?”

 

“Part of the …” she laughed harshly, and even she could hear the edge of hysteria within it. “I just … I can’t. I need … I need a minute.”

 

Getting up, she speed walked into the restroom, closing the door and leaning back against it, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths.

 

It was real. 

 

All of the memories she’d dismissed as crazy over the years, every dream, her childhood friendship with Killian. The curse. All real.

 

Her birth mother was here, looking _exactly_ like the last time she saw her, except for the drastic haircut.

 

And her father was nowhere to be seen.

 

Emma covered her mouth with a hand and bit back a sob, moving to look in the mirror. She willed herself to pull it together, to think of her son. Henry was the only thing that mattered.

 

_Get a grip, Emma_.

 

She wasn’t sure what to think about this, but she had to focus on Henry first of all. Once he was safe, she would figure out what the hell was going on in this town and what she could do for her mother.

 

When she had herself as much under control as she could manage, she went back into the diner, her steps stuttering as she saw Killian leaning on the counter talking easily to her mother.

 

_What the hell?_

 

She wondered if she had it in her to go over and join the conversation, but she was saved from making that decision when Ruby — who was a goddess in the timing department, for sure — bustled out of the kitchen with their plates.

 

A moment later, Killian joined her, sliding into the booth across from her.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked in a low voice, cutting up her pancakes with more than a little temper. “We shouldn’t get involved until we figure out what’s going on.”

 

“I’m not getting involved. I was just politely conversing while waiting for some coffee,” he shot a cautious look around the diner before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Her name is Mary Margaret, and she does indeed look exactly the same as we saw her last. Hasn’t aged a day. Unbelievably, she doesn’t even remember me at all. Truly, it’s a terrible curse.”

 

She rolled her eyes, recognizing that he was trying to cheer her up, something he seemed to be doing a lot of on this trip. “I didn’t remember you.”

 

“Ah,” he leaned back, waving his fork at her. “Far be it from me to contradict a princess, Swan, but you did remember me. You simply thought I was an imaginary friend.”

 

She shoved an enormous bite of pancake in her mouth, impolitely speaking around the food in a very unprincess-like manner. “If only, Jones.”

 

He smiled charmingly and started in on his pancakes, too.

 

Surprisingly, her appetite still remained, so she plowed through her breakfast, all the time watching her mother out of the corner of her eye. Ruby brought her something to eat, bending over and speaking in a low voice, and Emma paused with her fork in the air, remembering.

 

_“I’m kidnapping her,” Red warned, laughter in her voice. She threw an arm around Emma, pulling the child into her side. Emma cuddled closer, pressing her nose into the red cloak. Auntie Red always smelled good; the scent reminded her of the times they went for walks in the forest together. “She can live with us in the cabin, and I’ll teach her about hunting and tracking …”_

 

_“Eh, take her,” Snow laughed. “She would drive you crazy with questions within a week. You’ll have to pay a ransom for us to take her back.”_

 

_“Momma!” Emma objected, pulling away from Red to glare at her mother._

 

_“Oh, baby,” Snow said, smiling at her. “I’m only joking. You know we would never let anyone take you from us, even Auntie Red.”_

 

“What is it?” Killian asked quietly.

 

Emma leaned over the table, whispering. “Red … Ruby … she was my mother’s best friend. She didn’t visit often when I got older, but she was there right before … everything happened. A lot of my parents’ friends were at the castle then.”

 

Killian looked thoughtful. “I don’t remember her. But … Granny. She was there, too. I remember, she came into the kitchen to yell at the cook about something that wasn’t to her satisfaction.”

 

Emma nodded. “Sounds like she hasn’t changed much. But Ruby is … very different.”

 

Killian turned to look at the brunette, eyes lingering on her legs, which were on full display in a tiny skirt. Emma felt a spark of annoyance — only because they had no time for distractions like that, she told herself.

 

“I wonder who Sheriff Hottie was back then.” She didn’t really mean to say it, wasn’t exactly trying to provoke a reaction, but she couldn’t deny being pleased at the sour look on Killian’s face.

 

“One of Cinderella’s mice, I’d wager,” Killian said. “You like those law abiding types, then?”

 

She thought about teasing him, but instead skipped over his question entirely. “There’s something off about him,” she said. “I just don’t know what.”

 

“I’d just as soon avoid law enforcement involvement — off or not — if it’s all the same to you, love.” Killian jabbed his fork into a bite of pancake. “Difference in philosophy and all.”

 

“May not be possible,” she said. “He’s already suspicious, just by us being here.”

 

Killian nodded. “Makes sense. The town is magically hidden; we’re likely the first strangers they’ve seen, maybe ever. Even if they don’t know it’s hidden, we’re an anomaly.”

 

Emma pushed her empty plate back before she started doing something embarrassing like licking it clean. Cursed or not, Granny could certainly cook.

 

Killian eyed the plate but fortunately was smart enough not to comment on how much she’d eaten. Instead, he pushed his not-quite-empty plate away, too. Meeting her eyes, he nodded. “Ready when you are, Swan.”

 

Emma scooped up the check and took it up to the counter to pay, nodding when Ruby called that she’d be right there. Her mother — Mary Margaret, she reminded herself — was gathering up her books at the table next to her.

 

“Emma,” her mother said, and Emma froze in shock. Swallowing hard, she turned to face Mary Margaret.

 

“Your friend Killian, he said your name was Emma,” she said, and Emma held back a sigh. Of course she didn’t know her, she was cursed. And how would she recognize her own daughter this many years later?

 

“That’s right,” she managed.

 

Mary Margaret smiled brightly. “That’s my favorite name,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

 

Emma looked down, blinking back tears. “That’s what my parents thought, too.”

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” her mother said.

 

Before Emma could do more than nod, Ruby popped up, like magic. “Ready?” she asked.

 

Emma smiled, handing over her credit card. Ruby was 3-for-3 in sparing Emma from awkward situations, and Emma left her an almost embarrassingly large tip in response.

 

_Thanks, Auntie Red._

 

*

 

Killian had the foresight to ask the ladies for directions to the castle, which turned out to be a worn wooden playset in the park by the water.

 

They were a bit early, so they settled on a bench near the castle and waited. Killian lounged (there was really no other word for it), looking perfectly relaxed, but his eyes were alert, darting watchfully around the park.

 

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, scanning the area too. “So,” she said finally. “Tell me about these people.”

 

“I told you all I know, Swan. I did some jobs for them, but we weren’t exactly friends.”

 

She was almost afraid to ask, which is why she hadn’t so far, but she did need to know. “Would they hurt Henry?”

 

He didn’t answer right away, and she turned to look at him. He shook his head. “In truth, I have no idea. I would like to believe they would never harm a child, but … I think it would be best if we find a way to give them what they want.”

 

Emma nodded, looking down at her hands, clenched into painfully tight fists in her lap. Even as her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of her baby boy being hurt, she was grateful that Killian would be straight with her.

 

He touched her gently on the arm, and she looked up, eyes zeroing in on the woman who was walking toward them. She was tall and slim, probably about Emma’s age, dark-skinned with long hair flowing behind her. Very pretty. A very lovely smile that Emma suddenly wanted to punch right off her face.

 

“Easy, love,” Killian spoke in a low voice, almost like he could hear her thoughts, covering one of her fists with a warm hand. “I know you’re worried, but at least hear what she has to say before you resort to violence.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes and nodded briefly, stuffing down the rage that threatened to overwhelm her before standing to face her son’s kidnapper.

 

She’d take Killian’s advice and listen, but that didn’t mean she was taking violence off the table.


	8. Chapter 8

“Sam,” Tamara said warmly. “Or should I call you Killian?”

 

_She wants me to know that I have no secrets from her_ , Killian thought. Good strategy, if he gave half a damn about any secrets he may have had before. Unfortunately for Tamara, nothing mattered to him now more than Emma’s safety — and the welfare of her son.

 

“It’s never been a concern of mine what you call me,” he said, hoping his tone conveyed how little he cared about her at all. Given the narrowing of her eyes, she got the message loud and clear. “We’re not here for pleasantries, at any rate.”

 

“Where. Is. Henry.”

 

At the low growl in Emma’s voice, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She stood stiffly, hands clenched into tight fists that he guessed were mere seconds from pummeling Tamara’s face. Truthfully, he was surprised that Emma had managed to hold out this long.

 

Alas, as much as he’d likely enjoy seeing Swan beat the living hell out of the other woman, a fight right now would help no one.

 

“You heard the lass, Tamara. Where’s the boy?”

 

Tamara turned her phony smile on Emma. “I’m so pleased to finally meet the savior,” she said pleasantly. 

 

“I’m sorry to say the feeling isn’t mutual,” Emma said tightly. “Where is my son? I’m not going to ask again.”

 

Tamara sighed, looking disappointed. “Enough … pleasantries, as Killian says, then. Your son is safe, and he will continue to be safe with my friend — as will Neal if that matters to you — until you do one small thing for us.”

 

Emma was actually vibrating with rage by this point, so Killian placed a hand on her arm, aiming to comfort her — as well as to stop her from acting rashly (and violently).

 

“And that is?” he asked.

 

Tamara shrugged. “We just need to you break the curse.”

 

“Break the curse.” Emma’s voice was devoid of emotion, though he was confident it was a different story on the inside.

 

Killian pushed aside the question of why the Home Office would even want the curse broken. He knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer anyway. Instead, he focused on more practical matters.

 

“How do we know Henry and Neal are with you? And safe? Forgive me, but I don’t think we’ll be taking your word,” he said.

 

She had obviously anticipated the question, pulling out her phone and tapping a few buttons before flipping it to show them a photo. It showed Cassidy seated on a dark-colored couch, glaring at the camera, with Henry tucked into his side. The boy looked unharmed. There was no way to know exactly when it was taken, but Neal was wearing the same shirt he’d worn the last time Killian had seen him.

 

“Fine,” Emma ground out, eyes following Tamara’s phone as it disappeared back into her pocket. “What do I have to do?”

 

Tamara looked surprised, and though Killian wasn’t certain, he thought it might be genuine. “Well … _you’re_ the savior,” the other woman said. “Even my employers don’t know how the curse is to be broken. Only that you’re the one to do it. Honestly, we thought that just bringing you here would do it.”

 

“You’ll understand if I don’t believe a word you say,” Emma said. “If you think I’m just going to wander around town trying to find a magic … whatever to help me break a curse I didn’t believe in 24 hours ago, you’ve got another thing coming. What’s to stop me from going to the cops?”

 

Tamara laughed. “That would be a mistake.”

 

“If you lay a hand on my kid, I will kill you.”

 

Killian swallowed hard at the cold, hard tone of Emma’s voice. This wasn’t a threat made in the heat of the moment; he could tell she meant it, and he wanted to make sure the situation never deteriorated that far. 

 

Tamara took a half-step back, smart enough to recognize the threat, too. “I only meant that the sheriff here in town is nothing but a puppet for the mayor.”

 

“And?”

 

“The mayor does not want you breaking the curse,” Tamara explained. “In your land, Regina Mills was better known as The Evil Queen.”

 

“Dammit,” Killian muttered. Of course, he should have expected something like this. He’d been so focused on convincing Emma of the truth that he hadn’t considered any of the other factors — or any of the other players. “She cast the bloody curse in the first place.”

 

“Exactly,” Tamara nodded. “There’s a chance that killing you would break the curse. I won’t lie — we considered simply doing that ourselves. But the Home Office feels it’s too risky. If that doesn’t break the curse, then we’ll be left without a savior.”

 

“How unfortunate for you,” Emma said flatly.

 

“My point is, she’s not likely to kill you, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t get you out of the way somehow. It would be best not to draw her attention.”

 

“Too late,” Emma said. “Her ‘puppet’ interrogated me before breakfast this morning.”

 

“Then you better move fast,” Tamara told her. “As I said, I don’t know how to break the curse, but I may be able to point you in the right direction. There is one person in town besides Mayor Mills who would know the solution. Neal’s father.”

 

“What does Cassidy’s father have to do with anything?” Killian asked.

 

“He was the one who created the curse, according to my employers. You may have met him already. Here he goes by the name of Mr. Gold, but in the Enchanted Forest his name was Rumpelstiltskin.”

 

*

 

He’d half expected Emma to tackle Tamara, who took her leave after refusing to answer any more questions — well, make that any questions at all — about her elusive employers. He’d really love to know who the hell these people were that they knew so much about the Enchanted Forest and magic but who claimed to have no idea how to break the bloody curse.

 

He was also left wondering about the number of magical objects he’d stolen for them in the past, hoping that they weren’t going to be used against himself and Emma now.

 

Instead of raining down violence on Tamara, Emma all but stumbled over to a bench, sitting for several solid minutes in silence. He had no idea what to say to her; his own head was spinning with so much information and even more unanswered questions, he had no idea where to start.

 

When she finally turned to him, sea green eyes wide, what she said was maybe the last thing he’d ever expected to hear. “My kid’s grandfather is Rumpelstiltskin.”

 

“Swan …” He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

 

Even more strangely, she laughed with him, with only a slight trace of hysteria.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “I have … there’s so much. But. _Rumpel-freaking-stiltskin_. Like, I remember hearing stories about him, and I saw a drawing of him in a book one time, just this little reptilian man-thing. And … that’s Neal’s father? I just …”

 

He shook his head. “Do you think he remembers? In retrospect, he seemed a bit … _off_ last night.”

 

“The way he said my name,” she said slowly. “It was weird, right? Sometimes men are just creepy, so I didn’t think much about it, but …”

 

“It was recognition.”

 

“I think so. I don’t know. But it’s the only lead we’ve got,” she said.

 

“Then let’s find Rumpelstiltskin,” he agreed.

 

*

 

It was laughably easy to find the man, since his name was on display over his Main Street shop — “Mr. Gold, Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer.” There was no mention of “reptile-like deal-making troll,” but he was certainly the one they were looking to find.

 

Scanning the street before they went in, Killian noted that the sheriff’s car was not far down the street, though the man himself was nowhere in sight. He exchanged a glance with Emma, who had paused at the sight herself, then followed her into the shop.

 

It looked deserted when they walked in, but at the sound of the bell the owner himself stepped out. Killian had also seen a drawing of Rumpelstiltskin in a book as a child, and he mentally compared the memory of that image to the man. He couldn’t be positive — memories were tricky things — but there was a definite resemblance. 

 

“Ah, our visitors,” he said. “Shopping for souvenirs today?”

 

“That depends,” Emma said, walking toward him, stopping briefly to reach toward a child’s mobile hanging from the ceiling; the blue and white glass unicorns seemed vaguely familiar to him, though he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen them. Before she could touch the unicorns, she withdrew her hand and continued toward the shop owner like nothing had happened. “Got any magical items in here that can break a curse?”

 

A smile slowly crept across Mr. Gold’s face, and the sight of it gave Killian an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. Anything that could make Rumpelstiltskin smile like that was not likely to be good for anyone else. 

 

“Miss Swan,” he purred. “I wondered when we met last night if you had realized your destiny yet. I thought not, but I’m pleased to be wrong in this case.”

 

“You weren’t,” she said shortly. “But seeing my mother walk in this morning looking the same as she looked 20 years ago was a good wakeup call. And being blackmailed into breaking the curse by people who’ve kidnapped my son is incentive to do it quickly.”

 

The mention of a kidnapping did nothing to dim the smarmy smile on Gold’s face. “And how, I wonder, did you know to come here?” he asked.

 

“The woman who took my kid told me,” Emma said. She glanced at Killian, and he could almost hear her wondering how much to tell the man. He honestly had no idea what was the best thing to do. Ask him to break into a safe or bank anywhere in the world, and he was your man; dark sorcerers and magical curses were a bit out of his area of expertise. “She doesn’t only have my son; she has yours.”

 

Those words most certainly wiped the smile off his face. It was at least confirmation that the Dark One did, in fact, have a son. How in the hell did Tamara and the Home Office know these things?

 

“My son.”

 

Emma shot another uncertain look at him before turning back to Gold. “Neal Cassidy?”

 

Gold repeated the name slowly, shaking his head. “I do have a son, Miss Swan. His name is … was Baelfire, and he was taken from me when he was a boy and brought to this realm. I don’t recognize that name, but perhaps …”

 

Emma pulled out her phone, flipping through photos. “This is Neal. With … our son, Henry.”

 

Gold froze with one hand reaching for the phone, tilting his head. “Your son?”

 

“The one who was kidnapped,” she snapped. “Neal’s his father, and they have him, too.”

 

The older man took the phone, brushing a finger over the surface while he stared at the image.

 

“Bae?” he whispered, suddenly sounding much older.

 

“He never told me much about his family,” Emma said. “But he told me his mother had taken him away from his father, and he’d not seen the man for years. He told me his dad lived in Storybrooke and, for some reason, couldn’t come to Boston to see him.”

 

After an awkwardly long pause, Gold handed Emma’s phone back, transforming from grieving father back into ice cold shop owner right before their eyes.

 

He nodded. “It’s possible. My wife —” he spat out the word like the vilest curse — “stole him from me when he was a boy. Despite the fact that I could offer them anything they desired, it wasn’t enough for her. I found that Bae was in this world, but, as you said, I can’t leave town until the curse is broken.”

 

“And how is the curse broken, exactly?” Killian asked.

 

Gold’s eyes momentarily flicked his way before dismissing him and focusing back on Emma. “Well, that’s up to Miss Swan,” he said.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” Emma asked.

 

“It means that only an act of True Love can break the curse. I’m well-versed in nearly every type of magic, but light magic is … outside my domain.”

 

Emma ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head and sending a helpless look Killian’s way. He’d give anything to have an answer for her, but he was just as clueless. Of course, he knew of True Love’s Kiss — everyone in the Enchanted Forest did — but did such a thing apply in this world? And who would she kiss, anyway?

 

In another situation, he’d happily offer himself up as a test subject, but now was not the time for levity.

 

“Perhaps we should put that aside for the moment,” he said finally. “Henry’s safety should take priority over a 20-year-old curse.”

 

“Right,” Emma said, nodding. “That’s right. First we save Henry and Neal, then we save the town.”

 

“ _I_ will deal with these kidnappers,” Gold said darkly.

 

“What exactly are you going to do?” Emma asked skeptically. “Can you use magic to find them?”

 

“That I cannot do,” Gold said. “There is no magic in town … at the moment. But I’ll enlist the help of local law enforcement. The sheriff is quite the tracker; he knows the town like the back of his hand, and he’ll find them in no time. Believe me, I will make them _pay_ for touching my son.”

 

“Hold up,” Emma said. “We were warned — granted, by the kidnapper, but still — that the sheriff is working for the Evil Queen.”

 

“Indeed,” he told them. “She has the poor fellow’s heart … he’s nothing more than her puppet. Until you break the curse, it’s imperative that you stay away from both of them. Regina will do whatever she has to to keep you from breaking it.”

 

“So what do you suggest we do in the meantime?” Emma asked. “I’m not going to take a tour of Storybrooke or hang out in my room all day while my son is missing.”

 

“It’s your choice, of course, but I might suggest that you go to visit your father,” the shop owner said.

 

“My … my father?” Emma’s voice shook. Without thinking, Killian reached out to take her hand. The last sight he’d had of the king flashed before his eyes, all blood and death, and he was sure the same thoughts plagued Emma. “He’s alive?”

 

“He lives,” Gold said. “He’s in a coma at the hospital. Perhaps breaking the curse would wake him as well?”

 

Her hand tightened on his, and he heard her take a shaky breath. “Are you sure you can find Henry?”

 

“I give you my word, Miss Swan. In fact, I’m certain I can get Regina to help me find them.”

 

“And how exactly will you do that?” Killian was skeptical. There was no situation in which he could envision The Evil Queen willingly helping Snow White’s daughter with anything.

 

Again, the smile that spread across Gold’s face was unsettling. “Why, I’ll simply say _please_.”

 

*

 

“I don’t like this,” Emma said, hovering inside the front lobby at the hospital. “I want to be there when they find Henry.”

 

“I understand, love,” he said. “Though I hesitate to agree with … Rump … er, Mr. Gold, I feel for your safety it’s best if you stay away from the queen.”

 

“I don’t care about my safety; I care about Henry’s.”

 

“And it’s my job to care about yours as well as the boy’s.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow. “I thought your job was to steal stuff.”

 

He huffed. “Swan, I —”

 

“Miss Swan.” The blonde man striding toward them wore a dress shirt and tie with a white coat, a stethoscope draped around his neck. As he stopped before them, the man’s eyes scanned Emma’s body, lingering long enough on her breasts that Killian found his hand had made a tight fist. The urge to drive it right into the man’s nose was almost overwhelming. “I’m Dr. Whale. Joann says you’re asking about our John Doe.”

 

“That’s right. I think he might be my cousin David,” Emma lied easily — and impressively. Killian almost believed her himself, though he knew nothing she said was the truth. “He’s been missing for years, and I heard from another relative that there was a man in a coma here who fit his description.”

 

The doctor smiled, nodding. “It could be him; nobody has claimed to know him since I’ve worked here. Let’s go see if he’s your cousin.”

 

Dr. Whale motioned for them to follow him, then took off down the hall. “He’s been here for years, though I just found that his chart doesn’t have the actual admission date listed,” he said. Killian wasn’t surprised; record-keeping was kind of irrelevant in a town that was frozen in time. “I don’t know how that wasn’t recorded, but he’s been like this as long as I can remember.”

 

If the doctor hoped Emma would fill in some details about her “cousin,” he was mistaken, as she just hummed and looked concerned — which probably was no act at all. Killian found that he was a bit nervous himself, considering that the last time he’d seen Emma’s father he’d been pretty sure the king was dead. He was almost afraid to hope that her father was alive.

 

Emma slowed a step behind Dr. Whale, eyes fixed on the figure tucked into a bed on the other side of the glass. Killian could see the shape of his body, the blond hair, but the patient’s face was turned away. He heard Emma take a shaky breath and reached for her hand again. Surprisingly, she twisted her fingers in his without taking her eyes off the man in the bed, holding tight. 

 

The doctor was through the door, and they followed slowly, still holding hands. Killian found himself watching Emma instead of the patient, and he saw her hand fly toward her mouth. He could tell just from her face what she saw.

 

“Da —”

 

“David!” he interrupted, before she could blow her own story. “It’s him; it’s David.”

 

Emma turned a grateful, tear-filled look his way for the save, squeezing his hand before letting go and walking to the side of the bed. “It _is_ him,” she whispered, taking her father’s hand. “I was afraid to hope it was true.”

 

“I have to caution you,” Dr. Whale said seriously. “It’s fantastic that you’ve identified him, but this man has been in a coma for years. I’m sorry to tell you that it’s highly unlikely he will ever awaken.”

 

Emma nodded, eyes still focused on the king. “I understand. But … at least we know what happened to him now.”

 

“That’s a comfort, I suppose,” the doctor said, sounding like he didn’t think that was comforting at all. “There will be some papers for you to fill out, unless he has closer relatives?”

 

“He has a wife,” Killian said softly. “But I’m afraid she can’t be contacted at the moment.”

 

The doctor nodded. “I’ll send Joann with the paperwork in a bit. You can stay as long as you like. ”

 

“Thank you,” Killian said, pushing a chair over to Emma. “We’ll do that.”

 

The doctor left the room, and Emma sank into the chair, not letting go of the king’s hand.

 

“Will he wake up?” Emma asked. “I mean, if I break the curse? Do you think he’ll wake up?”

 

He shook his head. “I’ve no idea. I … I’m honestly surprised to see him alive at all.”

 

“Me, too.” Emma pushed herself to her feet, then after a pause moved to move her father’s blankets and hospital gown to the side. “Huh.”

 

There were no wounds on his torso, no scars, even. And his physique was not that of a man who had spent years in a coma.

 

“I think he will,” Emma said, tucking the blankets back around her father and sitting again. “He’ll be okay.”

 

Killian hoped she was right.

 

*

 

Emma held out longer than he would have thought, nearly forty-five minutes. He was timing it.

 

“This is a waste of time,” she said, standing to pace around the room. “There’s nothing we can do for him now, but Henry —”

 

“What happens if she sees you?” Killian asked reasonably. “If she tries to attack you, and your boy is in the way?”

 

“What is she going to do to me? She —” Emma scanned the area around them before continuing in a low voice. “Gold said there’s no magic here either.”

 

He shrugged. “She could have a gun.”

 

“She wouldn’t,” Emma argued. “Killing me could break the curse.”

 

“Swan, I’d wager in your line of work you know this already, but desperate people will often commit surprising — and terrible — acts.”

 

Emma groaned and threw her head back, as though searching the heavens for answers. “I know, I know. I just … he’s my _son_. I need to be out there.”

 

“There’s nothing you can do,” a new voice spoke, startling them both.

 

Killian felt his stomach drop as his eyes focused on the newcomer. He’d never seen her in person before, but he knew immediately that it was Regina, aka The Evil Queen and mayor of this town. The one person he needed to keep away from Emma was standing in the doorway, hard eyes focused on the princess.

 

“Ironic, I suppose,” Regina said before either of them could move or form an answer. “You lost your son, and found your … cousin, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so come cry about the perfection of CS or nag me on Tumblr (I'm madjm there as well) until I finish this puppy!


	9. Chapter 9

Emma knew she should be concerned. Panicked, probably. Regina wasn’t called “The Evil Queen” for nothing. She was well known for killing anyone who got in her way, and it was rumored she kept an entire room full of the hearts she took from people — all the hearts she didn’t simply crush in her rage, that is.

 

Still, even knowing the woman’s history, Emma felt remarkably calm at finally facing the woman who’d torn her family apart years ago, who was responsible for Killian growing up alone instead of with her. 

 

“I don’t know if it’s ironic,” she said finally, keeping her voice even. “Just kind of lousy.”

 

Regina didn’t take her eyes off Emma, and it was a bit unnerving, like she was trying to see into her mind. Which was totally impossible, Emma was like … 99 percent sure.

 

“Miss … Swan? I’m —”

 

“I know who you are,” Emma said, leaving it there for a moment out of morbid curiosity. She felt Killian step to her side, and she had to hold back a smile. The guy seriously thought he was her knight or something. “You’re the mayor, right? Mr. Gold said you would help find my son.”

 

After a long pause, Regina seemed to relax, putting on a smile that didn’t come close to touching her eyes. “That’s right, Regina Mills.”

 

“Emma Swan,” she said. “This is my friend Killian Jones. Is there any word on my son?”

 

“Not yet,” the mayor said. “But it’s only a matter of time. Sheriff Graham is … a born hunter. And Mr. Gold … well, he’s a force unto himself. I do find it odd that he has taken such an interest in your son’s well-being.”

 

There was a question there, but Emma wasn’t touching that. She might not have been exactly scared of Regina, but she knew it would be stupid to underestimate the woman. “I know,” she said, trying to inject a little confusion in her tone. “I couldn’t believe how nice he was either. Maybe he just felt sorry for me, I don’t know.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Regina said flatly.

 

“You’d know better than we would,” Killian said. “I, for one, don’t care why he’s helping. I’m just glad he offered.”

 

“Hmmm,” Regina’s eyes darted back and forth between them before settling back on Emma. “I’m sure we’ll hear something soon. What I don’t understand is why these people would take your son. Have they asked for a ransom?”

 

“Of a sort,” Emma said with a short laugh. She felt Killian staring at her, and she could almost feel him _willing_ her to keep her mouth shut. She knew she was acting recklessly, but she couldn’t seem to resist. “They want me to break a curse.”

 

The atmosphere in the room seemed to turn to solid ice. Regina’s eyes got big and, honestly, a little crazy scary. Emma was exhausted and worried — and now, truthfully, a bit concerned that she’d pushed it too far — but she managed to keep her expression neutral even in the face of the mayor’s obvious anger.

 

Killian shuffled awkwardly— aiming for casually, she thought — until he stood partly in front of her. He was a half step away from throwing himself in between the women, and Emma didn’t doubt for a second that he’d do it if he felt she was being threatened. It reminded her of how he’d protected her when they were children, and while she knew she could take care of herself, his concern was touching.

 

“A. Curse?”

 

Emma shrugged. “Crazy, right? She said the town is cursed, and only I can break it. That’s what they want me to do.”

 

“And how exactly would you do that?”

 

“I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_ ” didn’t seem like the best answer in this situation.

 

“Well, first, I guess I would have to actually believe in curses,” Emma said instead. “These people are nuts, and I need to get my son away from them.”

 

There was an awkwardly long pause again, then Regina seemed to relax. Emma forced herself to do the same, though she wasn’t planning to lower her guard around the woman any time soon.

 

“The sheriff will find your son,” Regina said brusquely. “I’m sure you’ll be in a hurry to get him home.”

 

“You have no idea,” Emma said truthfully. She wasn’t going to breathe easy until Henry was making a mess baking cookies with her mom — her adopted mom — again.

 

And then, she was coming back to break the curse, free her mother and hopefully, wake her father from his sleep. If nothing else, when Snow White got her memory back, she could try kissing her husband awake, like he’d done for her years before.

 

“Well I —” the mayor broke off as her phone rang, and she held up one finger in their direction. “Just a moment.”

 

Turning her back to them, she stepped away and spoke into the phone. “Yes?”

 

Emma glanced at Killian. He still stood slightly in front of her, but he glanced back, frowning. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

 

“I know,” she hissed. “It was dumb. I just had to see …”

 

He sighed and shook his head. Before he could say anything, Regina turned and smiled at them, a tad warmer than before. It was practically friendly, even.

 

“Good news,” she said. “The sheriff is on his way, with your son. They were found in a cabin out in the woods. The child is perfectly safe.”

 

Emma let out a huge breath, more of a sob than a sigh, and bent over, resting her hands on her knees and trying to blink back her tears. Showing weakness in front of the Evil Queen was probably not a good idea, but she had limited control over her reaction. _Henry was safe_. She felt Killian step closer, his hand resting warm and comforting on her back, and it steadied her.

 

Pushing to a standing position, she huffed out a relieved laugh. “He’s safe?”

 

“I just said so,” Regina snapped, then seemed to force a weak smile. “We can meet them downstairs.”

 

Casting a glance back at her sleeping father, Emma nodded. She mentally promised him she would find a way to save him, then headed for the door, Killian at her side.

 

* * *

 

She paced outside the hospital, while the queen rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, and Killian was completely obvious in keeping himself in between the two. A part of Emma was afraid to believe that Henry was okay, but the moment the patrol car pulled up and she saw the small boy in the passenger seat, she felt like she could finally breathe easy again.

 

“Mom!” Henry bounded out of the car, and she dropped to her knees and opened her arms to him. Henry burrowed into her, and she breathed him in, almost sick with relief that her baby boy was safe and sound.

 

“I got you, kid,” she said, blinking back tears before pulling back and looking him over. “You okay?”

 

“Sure,” he said, looking down. “I’m alright. I was a little scared, but Dad said it would be okay.”

 

She nodded, glancing at the sheriff, who was talking to the mayor. Neal was nowhere in sight. “Where _is_ your dad?” Neal had some serious explaining to do. She wasn’t sure if she believed he was a victim or not. Apparently he’d been taken against his will, but on the other hand, he’d wanted them in Storybrooke … and here they were. Maybe she was being overly suspicious, but it seemed pretty convenient to her.

 

“He’s with my grandpa,” Henry said. “Did you know he lived here?”

 

“I just found out,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She didn’t really want to talk about Rumpelstiltskin with her son. Hell, she didn’t even want to _think_ about Rumpelstiltskin herself. “Hey, kid, I want you to meet my friend Killian. Killian, this is Henry.”

 

“Hello, lad,” Killian said pleasantly. “I’m very glad to meet you.”

 

“I know you,” Henry said. “You knew my mom when you were little.”

 

Emma frowned. “How do you know that? Henry, have you been snooping in my office at home?”

 

“No!” Henry said. “I read about him. And you. And your —”

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina interrupted, ignoring Henry and Killian both. “Sheriff Graham tells me that both of the kidnappers were regrettably killed while trying to escape. As there will be no need for a trial, your statements won’t be necessary. You can return home today if you wish.”

 

Emma felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She felt sick, and when she looked at Killian she saw the same feeling mirrored back at her. She obviously had no love for the people who had taken her son, but she preferred justice in a courtroom to whatever had happened to these two.

 

“Regrettably killed.” Conveniently dead, just like that. Was it the mayor’s puppet, tying up loose ends for her, or her kid’s grandfather? _Was it Neal?_

 

There might be no magic in Storybrooke, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a dangerous place.

 

Henry had curled himself into her side, wide eyes focused on the mayor, and Emma brushed her fingers through his hair. 

 

“It’s okay, kid,” she said. “You’re safe now.”

 

He didn’t answer, and she frowned. “We’ll go home tomorrow,” she said to Killian. “I want to talk to Neal before we go, and I didn’t exactly sleep well last night.”

 

“Agreed,” he said lightly, glancing at Henry. “We could all use some rest before we go back.”

 

The mayor frowned. “Of course,” she said, not at all graciously. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t need a statement?” Emma asked the sheriff, who had yet to say a word. The thought that he likely wasn’t in control of himself really rubbed her the wrong way, and she hoped that breaking the curse would free him as well. “I can at least leave my contact information.”

 

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the tiny glance at Regina before he answered. “Thank you, Miss Swan, but I don’t think I’ll need it. I was there myself, and I have statements from Mr. Gold and Mr. Cassidy.”

 

She nodded, just as though that made sense. Of course, that’s not how it would work in any place that wasn’t a holdover from a magical land run by an evil queen, but she didn’t think it was prudent to point that out.

 

“Thank you for bringing him back, Sheriff,” she told him instead. “I’ll never be able to repay you.” 

 

What she really wanted to tell him was, _I’ll try to free you_.

 

* * *

 

“Holy cow!” Henry yelled, throwing his arms dramatically in the air, the moment the mayor and sheriff had gone. He dropped his voice to “Do you guys _know_ who that was?”

 

Emma exchanged a look with Killian before turning back to her son, who still had his arms up. “Who?”

 

“The mayor,” Henry hissed. “She’s the Evil Queen!”

 

“Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere?” Killian suggested, looking around the deserted area in front of the hospital entrance.

 

“How do you know that?” Emma asked.

 

“It’s in the book,” Henry told her, digging through his backpack, which the sheriff had retrieved from his patrol car before he left. He pulled out a large book, its brown cover embossed with golden letters spelling “Once Upon a Time.”

 

“I don’t remember seeing that before,” she said slowly.

 

Henry shook his head. “You haven’t. It was at the cabin where they kept us. I found it under the couch.”

 

He held it out to her, and she took it, opening it randomly to find a lovely drawing of Granny and Red, the old woman handing over the crimson cloak that prevented Red from becoming a wolf. She flipped further back, seeing a picture of her father and her Aunt Abigail, opposite the story of when they freed Abigail’s True Love, Frederick, from his curse. Toward the end of the book, she paused over a whimsical illustration of young Emma and Killian, play swordfighting, both giggling so hard they could hardly hold on to their swords.

 

Tears in her eyes, she looked up to see Henry and Killian both watching her.

 

“Love, what is it?” Killian asked.

 

Without answering, she stepped closer, showing him the book.

 

“Huh.” He slid a finger over the page, face awed. “It’s … us.”

 

“The book says you were best friends,” Henry said.

 

“We were,” Emma told him, watching Killian. He smiled softly at the illustration before catching her eyes.

 

“How does it end?” he whispered, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

 

Taking a deep breath, Emma turned to the end of the book. The last few pages were blank, but she soon found the end of the story. “The king, grievously injured, entrusted his daughter’s safety to the boy, Killian,” she read softly. “The children tucked themselves into the magical wardrobe, bravely leaving The Enchanted Forest for adventures in another land, the kingdom’s future in their hands.”

 

The last thing on the page was a small illustration of the two of them curled around one another in the wardrobe, Killian still clutching his wooden sword protectively in front of her.

 

Some things never changed.

 

“You’re totally a princess!” Henry said.

 

“Shhh.”

 

“It’s not wise to stay out here,” Killian said, taking the book from her and handing it back to Henry. “Put this in your bag. We should go somewhere safe to talk about this.”

 

“Across the town line?” she suggested. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What if … what if I can’t get back in once I leave?”

 

“You’re the …” Henry mirrored Killian, looking around suspiciously and lowering his voice. “The savior, Mom. They can’t keep you out.”

 

“Still,” Killian said. “I don’t think we need leave town entirely. Only, perhaps, the shore? My brother Liam always said the sea is the world’s best secret keeper.”

 

* * *

 

Killian, of course, had wanted to steal a boat — borrow, he said, but it amounted to the same thing. She wasn’t about to commit a felony with her kid in tow, but they found a place at the docks that was willing to rent them a small craft, and Killian piloted them far enough out that they felt safe talking, once the shore was just a hazy blur and nothing but water surrounded them.

 

According to Henry, Neal had told him that Emma had agreed to the trip to Storybrooke as a surprise. Emma didn’t correct him; her problem was with Neal, and she didn’t think Henry needed to know his father had lied. 

 

They had met up with Tamara, but things hadn’t gotten really weird until her partner had shown up. Neal had apparently tried to keep Henry out of it, but he’d heard whispered arguments, and when he’d woken up from a nap, he and Neal had been locked up in the cabin, a guy named Greg on guard. Neal had claimed that everything was okay, but Henry could tell that Greg wouldn’t let them leave. Henry had found the book right after that, and he’d distracted himself by reading most of it. The sheriff and Mr. Gold had eventually shown up at the cabin, and Greg had somehow managed to get away — at least briefly.

 

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” Henry said softly. “Dad said that was the only time we could go and that there would be a big party when we got back. I guess … that was a lie?”

 

She should have known Henry would figure out the truth; he was only 10, but he was really perceptive. It took everything Emma had to hold back the things she would like to say about Neal Cassidy and his loose connection to the truth, but she somehow managed. Skipping over the lie comment entirely, she focused on the rest.

 

“Eh, I’ve had lots of birthdays,” she told him. “And any excuse for cake and ice cream is good with me. You know grandma will be all over it.”

 

“But which grandma?” Henry asked with a smile, tapping his backpack with the book inside. “You’re a real princess! Does that mean I’m a prince?”

 

“I guess it does,” she said, exchanging a smile with Killian. “But princes still have to go to school and do their homework. Killian and I were tutored, but that was even worse. When you’re the only two kids in class, you can’t even goof off for a minute.”

 

Killian laughed. “That’s not how I remember it, Swan. Lad, remind me to tell you about the time your Mom and I let loose an entire army of frogs in our classroom.”

 

“Awesome!” Henry said, laughing.

 

“Yeah no,” Emma said. “Don’t give him any ideas.”

 

“If I recall correctly, your highness, the frogs were your idea.”

 

“That’s not how I remember it,” she said primly, even though she knew damn well the whole thing had been her plan from the start. Not that Killian had fought her on it much. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Henry, you’ve read through most of the book? Does it give any clue about how I can break the curse?”

 

“Not really,” he said. “You should read it and see if I missed something, but it just kinda says you’re the savior, like that explains it all.”

 

“Great.” Emma rubbed at her forehead. “Okay, let’s head back and see if lunch and a little nap helps clear things up.”

 

* * *

 

Lunch didn’t give her any bright ideas about breaking the curse, but it did make her feel a little better. Afterward, she herded Henry into her room. Telling him to stay put, she closed the door behind her.

 

“Hey, Killian?” she stopped him before he could close his own door.

 

“Need something, love?”

 

“No … yeah, I just. I wanted to thank you.” She cleared her throat, which was suddenly choked up. “I never would have made it here or gotten Henry back without your help. I know I didn’t make it easy, but I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me.”

 

He shook his head, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “It was the least I could do, Swan,” he said. “I made a promise, after all. And I promise, I’ll be with you until we can break the bloody curse, too.”

 

Her arms were around him before she even consciously realized she was going to hug him. The Swans were not big huggers — Henry was the exception — so it should have felt odd to embrace him, but instead it just felt safe and comforting.

 

Like coming home.

 

Only, she rationalized, because they had been best friends years ago.

 

After only a moment, she felt him hugging her back, and she sighed before reluctantly pulling back just a bit. They were still so close, she could feel his breath on her face, and she again felt that bone-deep pull toward him like she’d felt at the benefit — what seemed like a hundred years ago.

 

“So … thanks,” she said lamely. She licked her lips, and his eyes zeroed in on her mouth. She could all but feel his lips on hers, remembering the way they had fit perfectly together, and she let her eyes fall to his mouth.

 

It couldn’t hurt anything, she thought, to kiss him again. To let herself get carried away, to give in to that pull, just for a minute.

 

Taking a deep breath, Killian stepped back, and Emma swayed unsteadily in place. “Any time, Swan,” he said, his voice rough. Without another word, he went into his room and closed the door, leaving her standing alone in the hall.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG you guys, I’m so so so sorry it took me FOREVER to update this fic. I feel so bad. I always knew what was going to happen, but I could not write it to save my life. This is the last part, but before you send me any death threats just know that there’s a short epilogue that will make you happy (I hope), and it will be posted within a couple of days, unless I get hit by a bus or something. If you’re still reading this thing, even though I’ve left you hanging for like over a year now, thank you so much!

Bloody fool.

 

It could not be denied. Killian Jones was a sodding, love-struck idiot.

 

Leaning against the door, he listened to the silence outside as Emma presumably stood where he’d left her. After a few moments, he heard her footsteps as she returned to her own room, and he trudged over to his bed.

 

With a groan, he stretched out and stared at the ceiling. Before he’d met Emma again, before he’d remembered, he’d done whatever the hell he liked. If he saw something he wanted, he took it; if there was a woman he desired, he made a move. More often than not, he got what he wanted there as well.

 

And, oh, he wanted.

 

Emma Swan was the loveliest, strongest, most impressive woman he’d ever met, and he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. Forever, even. He’d gone and fallen in love with a blasted princess.

 

And he was nothing but a thief, a commoner, an orphaned kitchen boy.

 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Killian sighed, reaching for the ancient remote control and switching on the equally old television.

 

Stepping away from Emma when she so clearly wanted to kiss him, too, was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. The longer he spent around her, the more difficult it was going to be.

 

So, they just had to figure out how to break the damn curse, and then he would get the hell out of town — away from temptation — as fast as possible.

 

 

* * *

 

He woke to a knock on his door, shaking off his dream — more of a memory, of the last day he’d spent with his brother — and glancing at the clock. An old sitcom played quietly on the television. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but it was nearly 5 p.m.

 

Rolling off the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair and opened the door to find Henry about to knock again.

 

“Hey,” the boy said. “My Dad called our room and said he’d meet us downstairs for dinner in half an hour. Mom said to ask if you wanted to come, too.”

 

On the one hand, having dinner with Emma and Cassidy sounded like the worst possible evening he could imagine, but on the other, he didn’t trust Neal at all, and he wanted to back Emma up in any way he could.

 

“Certainly,” he said. “I’d wager Granny makes an unbeatable cheeseburger.”

 

Henry grinned. “And maybe you could tell me some more stuff my Mom did when you were kids?”

 

Killian laughed. “I could be persuaded, lad.”

 

Henry went back to his room, leaving Killian to wonder if Emma was going to avoid him now that they’d nearly kissed. He wanted to reassure her, but “it’s not you, it’s me” sounded like a cop-out even if it was true. 

 

Emma Swan, princess or not, could do much better than Killian Jones.

 

He took time to tame his hair somewhat and brush his teeth. He’d ducked out earlier and picked up a few essentials at the drugstore nearby, including a 3-pack of plain black T-shirts. The shirts had a slight plastic smell from being in the package (probably for the last 20 years), but they were spring fresh compared to his other clothing, so he happily tugged one on.

 

He felt kind of like an idiot hovering around the door waiting for Emma and Henry, so he headed downstairs a few minutes early. The diner wasn’t terribly busy even though it was prime dinner time, so he sat at the counter and flirted with Granny for a while. The woman was a delight, very quick-witted and quite observant.

 

“She’s better off with you,” the woman said.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“The blonde, Emma,” Granny said. “I don’t know what on earth she saw in that one.”

 

Killian looked up as the front door bell rang and Neal Cassidy walked in. Granny muttered something under her breath and went into the back room. Cassidy scanned the diner, eyes narrowing as they fell on him, and Killian felt a wave of anger, which he quickly tried to quell. Fighting with Emma’s ex would do nobody any good, though he would deeply love to punch the man in his stupid face.

 

“I know you,” Cassidy said with a big, fake grin.

 

“Aye,” Killian said. “Your girlfriend and her other boyfriend knocked me out and kidnapped me.”

 

The fake smile dimmed, but Cassidy pushed on. “Yeah, man, they were bad news, I don’t even know —”

 

“Allow me to stop you right there, save us both some time,” Killian said, waving a hand at the man. “You’re a con artist by profession, by nature even. I’m not going to believe much of anything you say. Emma’s unsure whether to believe you’re a victim or perpetrator, but I’m inclined to think both. You willingly brought your son into this mess in order to get what you wanted, and then things got out of hand.”

 

Now the grin disappeared altogether, replaced with an ugly scowl. “Listen, buddy, you don’t know me. Don’t you dare accuse me of —”

 

“Dad!” 

 

Just like that, the smile was back in place, and Cassidy leaned over to hug Henry. “Hey man, you doing okay?”

 

“Great!” the boy said. “You met Killian, I guess? He’s Mom’s best friend.”

 

Killian nodded at Neal rather than extending a hand to shake. “Killian Jones.”

 

“I’m Neal Cassidy,” he said unnecessarily. “It’s funny how I never heard of you, if you’re Em’s best friend.”

 

“We’ve known each other forever,” Killian said. “Since we were children.”

 

“The whole time she and I were _together_ ,” Cassidy said, emphasizing the word in a way that only boosted Killian’s desire to punch him. The classless fellow was one step away from leering or making sex symbols with his hands. “She never once mentioned you.”

 

“I didn’t tell you everything. I guess that’s something we had in common.”

 

Both of them jumped at the sound of Emma’s voice, and Killian cleared his throat and leaned back against the counter. For the first time, he registered that Henry was watching all of this like it was a television program, and he kicked himself for getting into a pissing match, however minor, with Henry’s father while the boy was around.

 

“Em!” Neal said heartily, and Killian rolled his eyes.

 

“Neal,” she said, looking just as unimpressed as Killian felt. Maybe this dinner would be more fun than he’d thought.

 

After a short, painfully awkward silence, Henry spoke up. “I’m starving; can we order already?”

 

“Aye, I do believe I was promised a cheeseburger? Perhaps with some onion rings?”

 

Emma broke eye contact with her ex to send him a small smile. “Sounds great.”

 

They moved to a booth, and Henry immediately slid in next to his father, leaving Killian to sit beside Emma. Normally, he wouldn’t mind at all, but being so close to her and not being able to take her hand or put his arm around her was a kind of torture.

 

_Suck it up, Jones, and do something right for once in your life._

 

A waitress they’d never seen before took their order, and Killian was casting around for an innocuous topic to bring up when Emma spoke. “Killian, I saw an ancient pinball machine back there; maybe you and Henry could go play a few games?”

 

“Mooooom,” Henry started.

 

“I would like to talk to Neal,” she said firmly, looking first at Henry, then at Killian. “Privately.”

 

As much as he’d love to listen in on that conversation, Killian nodded to the boy. “You’re never too young to learn how to lose terribly at pinball, lad.”

 

“Ha!” Henry said, hopping up and rising to the challenge as he’d hoped. The boy was definitely his mother’s son. “You only _wish_ you could beat me. Do they even have pinball where you’re from?”

 

Killian stood, resting his hand on Henry’s shoulder and steering him toward the back. “I spent many an hour in the arcade when I was a boy. I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back,” he joked.

 

“I dare you to try!” Henry said, laughing, and he could hardly back down from _that_ challenge, could he?

 

Needless to say, he lost by a fairly large margin. There were many things that could be done well one-handed, but pinball was not one of those things. The fact that he was trying to watch Emma and Neal out of the corner of his eye didn’t help matters, either. 

 

Emma was facing away from him, but watching Neal’s face morph from a cocky, charming grin to faux confusion to anger before he hung his head gave Killian a good idea of how the conversation went.

 

When Neal reached out to take her hand, she pulled away, which was a good indicator that Emma was coming down on the side of not trusting the man. Killian acknowledged that he might be a little biased, but he wholeheartedly agreed with that stance and was happy to see that she wasn’t giving in to the man’s disgusting puppy-dog-eyes act.

 

Henry was in the middle of completely humiliating him in another round when he saw the waitress head back to the table. “Looks like I’m saved by the bell,” he told the boy. “Food’s ready!”

 

Dinner was only half as awkward as he’d expected, since they more or less allowed Henry to carry the conversation, and the boy chattered about school, friends and his favorite superhero movies.

 

Neal made himself scarce pretty quickly after they’d eaten, and the three of them wrapped up the evening with a stroll along the docks. There was something about being near the water that always calmed Killian, and Emma seemed to feel it, too.

 

While Henry ran and skipped ahead of them, the adults took it slow, and Emma let out a long sigh.

 

“He says he didn’t know about their plan,” she said finally.

 

“And do you believe him?”

 

She sighed again, shrugging. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. But … I have to believe he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt Henry. I’m letting Neal take him home in the morning; I’m not sure what I’m going to tell my parents yet, but I’m staying for now.”

 

Killian nodded. “With the boy gone, we can focus on the curse.”

 

“I didn’t … I know you said you’d help, but you don’t have to stay. If you, you know, have a big, elaborate heist to commit or something.”

 

“Alas, the heist business is quite slow this time of year,” he said lightly. “I promised I’d see this through, Swan, and I shall.”

 

He didn’t mention his plans after the curse was broken, and she didn’t ask.

 

* * *

He slept poorly, whether because of his nap or because of the uneasy feeling of that had settled in his stomach and had been getting worse as the evening wore on. He put it down to the knowledge that he was unprepared and possibly just not equipped to break a magical curse. Or perhaps the fact that, should everything go as planned, he would likely never see Emma again. 

 

Just because it was for the best didn’t mean it was what he wanted.

 

Either way, he tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling into a sleep plagued by strange, disturbing dreams that fled almost as soon as he opened his eyes.

 

A shower made him feel somewhat human again, but he’d only just pulled his clothes on when he heard yelling from the hall. He couldn’t make out the words, but somehow he knew it was Emma, even before he wrenched his door open to see her cradling Henry, who was passed out on the floor in the open doorway.

 

* * *

He hadn't been sure if calling 911 would work in Storybrooke, but an ambulance and EMTs showed up surprisingly quickly. Henry’s condition hadn’t changed since Killian had found them; the boy was still breathing shallowly, but during the increasingly long moments between breaths, he was still and pale as death (a thought that Killian kept to himself).

 

As Emma climbed into the back of the ambulance behind them, he noticed for the first time that she was barefoot, her wet hair dripping trails of water all over her arms and tank top.

 

He gently tugged at one of her feet, pulling her gaze from its laser focus on Henry. 

 

“I’ll grab your shoes,” he said gently, “and a clean shirt, and I’ll meet you there.”

 

“I …” she looked blankly at her bare feet, then back at him. “My keys, they’re in my room.”

 

He nodded, stepping back as one of the EMTs closed the door. 

 

Both of their rooms were still wide open when he rushed upstairs, and Granny stood in the hall between them, hands on her hips.

 

“What happened to that boy?” she demanded.

 

Shaking his head, he went into his room, grabbing his wallet and keys. “I’m not sure, love,” he said. “Emma said he just collapsed.”

 

She followed him into the other room, watching as he scooped Emma’s car keys from the dresser and looked around for her boots.

 

“He didn’t look well,” Granny said. “Do you think he hit his head? I can’t be responsible if he was horsing around up here.”

 

“I don’t …” Killian trailed off, frowning as he spotted something under the table beside the door. Dropping to his knees, he looked underneath, snagging a to-go bag from Granny’s and some kind of pastry with a single bite taken out of it.

 

“Perhaps he had an allergic reaction to something he ate?” Killian mused.

 

“What?” Granny snatched the bag and pastry from him, examining it. “This isn’t mine. The bag is, but not the dessert. I only make pies; this is an apple turnover.”

 

“Apple,” he said, taking it back from her. Sniffing the pastry, he realized she was correct. Something niggled at his memory, a story that was told about Snow White and her prince. A time before they were married, when the Evil Queen had nearly destroyed them, with … “Poisoned apple. Bloody hell.”

 

* * *

The Storybooke hospital had been sleepy and quiet on their previous visit, but the Emergency Room was a different matter, as white-clad workers bustled around hurriedly, most of them centered on a bed that held a small, pale Henry Swan.

 

The doctor, perhaps the town’s only physician, was the same one who’d consulted with them about Emma’s father the day before. 

 

“Look, I understand you're frustrated Miss Swan,” Dr. Whale said as Killian approached. “I do, but I need something to treat. Right now there is no explanation. It's like …”

 

“Henry was poisoned,” Killian said, holding out the bag with the pastry inside. 

 

The doctor took the turnover, shaking his head. “The boy is showing no symptoms that would suggest neurotoxins. We can test this, of course, but it seems unlikely that this is the culprit.”

 

“Poison?” Emma asked blankly. “Why … who would …”

 

“It’s an apple turnover,” Killian said. Ignoring the doctor’s curious look, he focused on Emma. “There was a story, when I was young, about your parents. And a poisoned apple.”

 

“ _She_ did this,” Emma said, and Killian followed her gaze to see the mayor standing in the doorway, staring at the boy in the bed, visibly shocked. Before he could think to stop her, Emma charged across the room and grabbed Regina by the arm.

 

“What. Did. You. Do.”

 

“Take your hands off me Miss Sw—“ 

 

The rest of the mayor’s objection was drowned out by Emma’s growl as she dragged the other woman to a nearby supply closet and all but threw her inside. There was a big crash from inside, and Killian noticed that while the hospital’s workers looked alarmed, not one of them made a move to intervene.

 

Shaking his head, he followed the women inside the closet, where Emma had Regina pinned against a cabinet.

 

“It was meant for you!” Regina said. “I … I thought the boy left town with his father this morning.”

 

“Neal’s gone?” Killian asked, but both of the women ignored him.

 

“You did this, you have to fix it,” Emma said.

 

“I can’t! … I don’t expect you to believe me, but I didn’t want to harm your son.”

 

“This poison is magical,” Emma said, tightening her hands on Regina’s lapels. “You have to be able to undo it.”

 

“That was the last of it,” Regina said softly. “You were going to ruin everything. I had to stop you, but that’s all the magic there was.”

 

“Maybe not,” Killian said, and this, at least, got their attention.

 

“What do you mean?” Emma demanded.

 

“She’s done this before,” he nodded at Regina. “To your mother. And your father woke her from sleep with True Love’s Kiss. What’s stronger than a mother’s love, Emma?”

 

Emma dropped her hands to her side, eyes boring into Regina so hard it seemed to still hold the mayor in place. “Will it work?”

 

“I …” Regina shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s worth a try.”

 

Emma looked at him, and he nodded. “I believe,” he said. “You can save him.”

 

A breath later, she pushed out of the closet, rushing to Henry’s side. Killian watched her brush the boy’s hair out of his face and lean over him, whispering to him. Behind him, Regina edged toward the door but didn’t leave, seemingly wanting to see what happened herself.

 

Emma pressed her lips to Henry’s forehead, and instantly a rainbow-tinted wave burst out from the point of contact, blowing through the room as the boy took a loud breath and sat up.

 

“I love you, too, Mom,” he said as color rushed back into his complexion. 

 

All around them, the hospital workers were looking confused, blinking as though coming awake, and Killian smiled, suspecting this was the light magic Rumpelstiltskin had spoken of.

 

Emma pulled away from Henry to take in the scene around them as people were hugging and looking around in surprise … and more than a few of them were looking less than pleased to see Regina. “What’s going on?”

 

“The curse … I think you broke it!” Henry said, grinning. “Way to go, Mom!”

 

As Henry scrambled out of bed and demanded to have his clothes back, Killian watched out of the corner of his eye as Regina skulked out of the room without a word. He debated trying to stop her before deciding the fate of the Evil Queen wasn’t his problem or responsibility. If she had no magic, she couldn’t be much of a threat to the people of Storybrooke, and he imagined the townspeople deserved to decide her fate for themselves.

 

He registered a flash of gold at his side a moment before Emma threw her arms around him; this time he hugged her back immediately, tighter than he had before, knowing it was the last time. He smiled into her shoulder as he felt Henry’s small arms wrap around them both, and he dropped one arm to run his fingers through the boy’s hair. The child was all Emma, and he would miss him as well as his mother.

 

Emma pulled back and smiled at him, tears in her eyes. “Thanks for keeping your head,” she said. “I don’t know if I would have thought to try True Love’s Kiss.”

 

“I’m just pleased it worked,” he said, handing her the bag he’d brought with her boots and flannel shirt. “And with no ill effects?”

 

“I feel fine,” Henry said. “It was so strange, though. It was like having a bad dream and not being able to wake up.”

 

Emma froze, looking up from where she was tugging on her boots. “Killian … if the curse broke, do you think my father woke up?”

 

“Only one way to find out.”

 

David’s room was up a floor from them. Emma bypassed the elevator, making straight for the stairs, Henry at her heels. Killian was only a few steps behind, just enough that he nearly ran over both of them when they reached neared David’s room and came to a screeching halt at the sight of the king himself. 

 

He was clearly on his way out, dressed in scrubs and a pair of neon green sneakers that surely didn’t belong to him. He was still, staring at Emma, and Killian couldn’t decipher the expression on his face.

 

“Hello,” Emma said softly. “You … you probably don’t know me, but I —“

 

“Emma,” a new voice chimed in, and they all turned to see Snow White walking toward them, a huge smile on her face. “It’s our Emma.”

 

Killian felt himself getting a little choked up as the three of them rushed together for a hug, all crying talking over one another. Henry leaned back against Killian, beaming as they watched the family reunion.

 

“This … this is my son, Henry,” Emma said finally, pulling back and motioning to the boy. 

 

He looked up at Killian, who nodded with a smile, before joining his mother.

 

“Hey … grandpa, grandma,” he said, making them all laugh.

 

Killian swallowed hard, hit by a confusing mixture of relief, happiness and the strongest wave of loneliness he’d ever experienced. He’d never really known what it was like to have a family like that — maybe only with his brother, who he was never getting back, curse or no curse.

 

This, he realized, was his chance to disappear. Goodbyes were the worst, and he could simply slip back through the door to the stairwell while they were occupied and be gone from town before anyone noticed, if they ever did.

 

He was actually taking a step back when he heard his name.

 

“Killian? It _is_ you, isn’t it?” the king’s voice rang through the hall.

 

Before he could even answer, David moved to him, pulling him into a short hug. Placing his hand’s on Killian’s shoulders, he smiled at him, making Killian momentarily feel like a young boy again. 

 

“You kept her safe,” David said. “I knew you would.”

 

“Well, actually —“

 

“He did,” Emma chimed in. “I wouldn’t be here without him, and I’d never have broken the curse.”

 

The way she smiled at him, like he was some sort of hero type, made him more determined than ever to leave the first chance he got.

 

He could never be the man that she deserved.

 

* * *

There was a party at Granny’s that evening, filled with food and drinks and hugs and memories. There was some grumbling about Regina, and some were loudly questioning how they could get back home, but for the most part it was an optimistic, happy time.

 

Killian couldn’t escape fast enough. 

 

Partway through the festivities, Neal had shown up, explaining quietly that he’d discovered his father’s plans to use Emma to somehow return magic to Storybooke. Neal had attempted to take him out of town, away from temptation. Instead, he’d somehow crashed his car right at the town line, blacking out long enough that Gold was long gone when he’d come around.

 

Neal intended to stay in town until his father was found, and David promised that he and the sheriff would help him track the man down.

 

It was after midnight when Killian excused himself, pleading a lack of sleep from the night before. Emma and Henry had checked out of Granny’s and moved their things to her mother’s place, which worked out well for him. Having no neighbors across the hall would make it all the easier to leave without being noticed.

 

He gathered his meager stash of belongings, left a wad of cash on the dresser to cover his bill and, after a bit of thought, scrawled a simple note to Emma. With everything ready, he flipped the lights off and sat, patiently, to wait for the party to break up.

 

About half-an-hour later, he heard soft footsteps in the hall, coming to a stop right outside his door. Somehow he just knew it was Emma, and he was on his feet and at the door before he could stop himself. He resisted the urge to reach for the doorknob, instead leaning his forehead softly against the door. He could all but feel her as she hovered on the other side for a moment that stretched on and on; he only managed to breathe easily when he heard her turn and leave. 

 

The party broke up soon after that, and he waited another hour before gathering his things, leaving his key and the note for Emma next to Granny’s money and easing down the stairs and out the back door.

 

The town was deserted and still at the late hour. It was a simple matter to steal a car; most every vehicle in town was old enough that he didn’t have to worry about alarms or other safety features. He chose a basic, dull tan sedan, and was driving it away just minutes later. 

 

It didn’t take long until he was driving over the town line without looking back, leaving his past behind him.

 

It was time for Killian Jones to disappear for good.


	11. Epilogue

**_Three months later_ **

 

The apartment was a unremarkable tan brick, not pricey but not a dump, looking like so many other buildings Emma had seen in so many other towns. Nothing about it stood out, good or bad, from the squat shrubs lining the sidewalk to the scuffed tile floor inside to the beige-painted doors with shiny gold numbers, like the #7 she’d been standing in front of for five minutes.

 

Taking a deep breath, she finally raised her fist and pounded on the door. There was no sound from the other side, but she knew he was there, and as dumb as it seemed to her, she could literally _feel_ the moment he spotted her through the peephole.

 

“I know you're there,” she said. “Open up.”

 

After a pause, she heard the locks click, and she took another deep breath before the door opened to fully reveal Killian on the other side.

 

He was, as the saying goes, a sight for sore eyes, and she took a moment just to look him over. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair had grown out some, maybe a touch too long, but she found herself fighting back the urge to thread her fingers into it and pull the asshole into a kiss.

 

And _there_ it was, the anger that had been building steadily for the last three months.

 

He made no move to speak or invite her in, just stood there staring at her, and that just made her angrier.

 

“Time’s up,” she said, stepping into his space and pushing at him until he stepped back to allow her inside. “I gave you space, I gave you time, but I’m done with that. I don’t get you.”

 

He closed the door behind him and turned slowly toward her.

 

“Swan? How?“

 

“I have a knack for finding people, that’s how. You just left,” she said, hating the way her voice wavered on the last word. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

 

“I left a note,” he said quietly.

 

“Oh yeah, that was great,” she said. “‘Hey Swan, good job breaking the curse, Killian out.’”

 

“It said a bit more than that.”

 

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I … I understood you leaving. I thought you were planning to disappear, but instead —“ she waved her hand at the sparsely-furnished apartment — “here you are, in _my city_ , just miles from where I live, just _here_ but not with me.”

 

Killian avoided her eyes, scratching absently at the back of his neck. “I planned to leave the States for good,” he confirmed. “I just … couldn’t.”

 

Emma nodded slightly, pacing further into the apartment. “Why haven’t you called me, then? It’s not a weakness to care about people, Killian. It’s just —“

 

She stilled, staring at the stretch of wall beside the sofa, which was covered in papers and photos, some of which she recognized. “What the hell?”

 

He said nothing, just waited as she walked along the wall, skimming the documents, hand-written notes and images.

 

“You’re investigating the Home Office,” she said.

 

“Aye.” He sighed. “It’s nothing but dead ends, though.”

 

“Dead ends in _this_ realm,” she said. “I’ve been looking into it, too. I don’t want them coming after my family again.”

 

She didn’t say — she didn’t have to say — that they could have saved themselves some time by investigating this together. “I don’t think they’re from around here,” she said instead. “And the curse is broken, their agents are dead. I’m not dropping my guard, but I think we’re probably safe from them. … If that’s why you were checking them out.”

 

“I … I know you’ve said otherwise, but I feel a responsibility.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Killian,” she said, keeping her eyes on the wall instead of him. “But I thought we … I mean, I didn’t imagine what was between us. Did I?”

 

“Swan. Emma.” His hand curved around her shoulder, and she turned to face him. He looked serious, his eyes appearing a deeper blue than ever. “You’re not imagining things … but once I remembered who I am … who you are, it all changed. You’re a princess, Emma, and more than that, you have a nice family. I’m just a thief, an orphan, a wanderer. Bloody hell, a kitchen boy.”

 

“I do have a nice family,” she said, nodding. “Two nice families, now, and that’s a whole level of confusing that I’m still trying to work out. But I think you’re missing the point. You can be part of it all, too. You just have to want that, take that step.”

 

“I want to,” he said roughly, one of his hands coming up to gently cup her cheek. “I’m just not sure how to do that.”

 

She moved in closer, fisting her hands in his shirt as she began to let herself hope. “Well, I think a good first step would be a date.”

 

“A … date.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” she said, smiling up at him. “You get dressed up, I get dressed up. We have dinner, maybe some dancing, maybe some coffee … or whatever, after.”

 

He swallowed hard, licking his lips. “I prefer tea, actually.”

 

She gave in to her earlier urge, reaching up to tug gently on his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. She stopped just short of kissing him, nipping at his bottom lip. “I prefer ‘whatever,’ actually,” she said. “But let’s start with the date.”

 

Pulling away, she strolled toward the door, putting a little sway in her hips. “I’ll pick you up at 8,” she said, grinning to herself.

 

Instead of answering, Killian moved up behind her, turning her around and backing her into his front door much like he had that night months before. Only this time, her heartbeat sped up for a completely different reason.

 

“Deja vu,” she managed, before he lowered his lips to hers and stole her breath entirely. He kissed her deep and slow, like he wanted nothing else and had all day to do just that, and she honestly had no idea how long it was before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. All she knew was she was warm all over was pressed up against him like she would never let go.

 

“I will pick _you_ up at 8,” he said, and she was pleased to hear his voice was as unsteady as she felt.

 

“What, you think I can’t plan a date?” she asked.

 

“You can track down bad guys,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. “And break magical curses. Let me use my skills for once. My legal ones, anyway.”

 

“Fine. I’ll see you then,” she said, sighing as he stepped back. She decided she was definitely getting him naked before the night was through. “I’ll tell you all about the time my parents met … my other parents, who happen to be the same age as me. Good times.”

 

“I can’t wait,” he said, his eyes falling to her lips again. 

 

“You …” She touched his face gently, unable to fight back a thread of doubt. “You’re not going to leave again, right? I am going to see you tonight?”

 

“I promise,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers. “I promise, Emma. Though … if you want, you could stay. Keep an eye on me? Just to be safe? I’m sure we could find a way to pass the time.”

 

Emma laughed, winding her arms around his neck again. “Just to be safe,” she agreed.

 

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, we’re done! 84 years later, I finally wrapped it up. Thanks to those who stuck with it all this time, and I apologize again for keeping you waiting so long. :)


End file.
